


Time Without End

by Charon Spole (cascadingpoles)



Series: The Wheel Turns Anew [1]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 103,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadingpoles/pseuds/Charon%20Spole
Summary: All of Creation is one. Light and Shadow exist in perpetual counterbalance to one another, as do the male and female halves of the One Power. Life is fleeting, and death as certain as rebirth. The souls of heroes and villains alike are but threads in the great Pattern of eternity, spun out again and again to live their lives, anew yet familiar.And so it is that once again the Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Tenth Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose once more in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a new beginning.





	1. Dragonmount

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a fan-fiction story based primarily on The Wheel of Time novels by Robert Jordan. It’s about what might happen when the Wheel of Time turns full circle and the events of the series happen once more. It will start very familiar, with only minor changes, but those minor changes will lead to other slightly bigger changes, which will in turn lead to more changes, getting bigger and bigger as the series progresses, ultimately leading to a completely different final half of the series.
> 
> Running with the rather Campbellian idea that all legends, myths and stories are part of the same repeating Pattern, I will be stealing characters, settings etc from other fandoms and fitting them into the main Wheel of Time setting as best I can, it order to create one giant fan-fiction playpen. Expect to see many familiar, yet different faces, from The Wheel of Time and elsewhere.
> 
> It will be very smutty. The idea for it started as part of a smut-fiction series that I ended up expanding upon, and that smuttiness remains at its core. Bisexuality will be common throughout the series, including with many of the main characters, and everything from romance and marriage, to rape and torture, to underage material will be included. Fair warning.
> 
> Rand will be an absolute Mary Sue. I freely acknowledge that, and offer no excuse. But hey, the character concept calls for him to be a Mary Sue anyway—the Creator’s champion, born again and again to fight the Dark One and such. So why not just roll with it? I’ve taken to thinking of him as the reincarnation of many protagonists from other stories, from Commander Shephard, to the Hero of Ferelden, to Gorion’s Ward, and so on.
> 
> I made a few alternations to the base setting. I decided to double down on the matriarchal nature of the Third, and now Tenth Ages. Almost all rulers are women for example, and most people inherit their mother’s surnames. I made Tar Valon a nation, rather than a city-state, to expand Aes Sedai power. I decided to make Travelling harder—requiring greater base strength in the Power to use and being very tiring to maintain—since I wanted other methods of transport to still be relevant. I also more than doubled the number of Forsaken, and decided to make them more competent and threatening opponents. In order to do this, without altering their personalities too much, I decided that they should all have ter’angreal similar to Cadsuane’s, and a holographic AI assistant to help manage their defences. Oh, and I renamed the Westlands continent as Valgarda.
> 
> The series begins in 996NE, when Rand, Mat and Perrin are seventeen, and will stretch over a longer period of time.
> 
> In making this, I basically copy-pasted the true Wheel of Time series into Word and then went through the books, editing as I wished. I cut some things, altered others, inserted new scenes and lines etc. This is almost certainly plagiarism, I know. With regards to that I can only offer the excuse that I make no money from this series, claim no ownership or right to The Wheel of Time—or any other published work—and that, for all that entire chapters in this series may be lifted directly from Mr Jordan’s work, other chapters are written entirely by me. I did this only for my own amusement, and if putting it on the internet for others to read constitutes a breach of copyright or causes trouble for anyone, I won’t object to its removal. I’ll still have my own copy after all.
> 
> Still, in hopes of avoiding trouble I'll only post those chapters that are either entirely new or heavily edited, as a preview of sorts. The full story, along with the map and appendix, can be found here: https://mega.nz/#F!P7IjkYyZ!sdoLq2M8CFd82PxZK-A1pQ
> 
> Oh, and for those that are only interested in the smut scenes, or who would prefer to avoid scenes involving certain pairings or acts, I've included a spoiler-heavy file in the mega download that provides a summary of all sex scenes and notes which chapter they can be found in.
> 
> Well that about covers it. Take a gander if you like. I hope you enjoy.

For the sake of neatness I'll start the series proper after the break.


	2. Yearning For More

CHAPTER 4: Yearning for More

“I guess the show’s over then,” Perrin said, his thick shoulders slumping.

Rand put on a smile. “Only for now. I’m sure Master Merrilin will be back in time for the celebration proper. It’ll be a Bel Tine to remember. No doubt.”

“The last maybe,” Egwene said softly. Rand thought he caught a hint of sadness in her big brown eyes, but by the time he had turned his attention to her fully it was gone as if it had never been. She was holding one end of her new braid in her hand, and he saw her give it a light tug, as though to remind herself of something.

“Are you really going to leave?”

She gave him a small smile. “Will you miss me, Rand? You must promise me you won’t grieve too long; I know how emotional you can get. It might not seem like it now, but I promise; someday you will meet another woman, one more suited to you, to a life here in the Theren.”

Perrin looked a little stunned. “Where are you going, Egwene?”

“I haven’t decided yet, Perrin. I may take the Wisdom position in a city north of the Taren, but I want to consider my options first.”

The young blacksmith blinked at that. Rand could almost see him examining the idea in his mind, considering it from every angle, looking for flaws, deciding what, if anything, he should say in response. He was very much a thinker was Perrin. Cautious and deliberate. Not so Mat.

“I didn’t know they even had Wisdoms in cities. Well, anyway,” Mat eyed the crowd of Theren folk, the adults muttering in disapproval over Thom’s abrupt exit. “I say we go find Dav and Elam, before some chores find us.” He set off in the direction of the Cauthon farm.

Rand and Perrin were quick to follow, and even Egwene only hesitated a moment before trailing along. No-one wanted to have a goodwife’s or goodman’s frustrations taken out on them.

As they hastened along the busy street, Perrin turned to Rand and asked, “Have you heard anything from Anna? I haven’t seen her or Master al’Tolan about town.”

Anna al’Tolan and her father lived in the Westwood, like Rand and Tam. They were neighbours, in so much as anyone had neighbours out that ways. “I haven’t seen her in a week,” Rand said. “But last we spoke she was complaining about wolves having gotten into their chicken coop. She and her father were planning to thin the pack a little, to try and drive them off, she said. Tam told her to tell Master al’Tolan that he should wait until after Bel Tine, and that he would see about gathering a full hunting party while we’re in town.”

Perrin frowned worriedly. “I hope they listened.”

Rand set his hand on Perrin’s thick shoulder. “It’s a long walk from their place to Emond’s Field. If they set out at about the same time as Tam and I they’d still be on the road. She’ll probably be here soon, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure Anna will keep Master al’Tolan from doing anything foolish, Perrin,” added Egwene.

Mistress Cauthon’s farm was on the outskirts of Emond’s Field, with rich pasturage stretching north and a large stable built near the village itself. Mat’s father Abell was known throughout the Theren as a man with a shrewd eye for horseflesh and a thrifty bargainer, which had made him the target of many a sour look from his less gracious neighbours, though little more than that—Abell also won the quarterstaff contest nearly every year, after all.

The Cauthons met them on the well-trodden path, stout Natti tugging her husband, a stockier and greyer version of Mat, along as he attempted to dry his hands with a towel. Just in from the pasture, Rand thought, and late for the meeting.

Mat’s mother gave him a knowing look. “Dav isn’t here, Matrim. He took off over the fields, looking rather nervous about something, actually. You don’t have any idea what he might have been nervous about do you?”

“Couldn’t say,” Mat’s expression held only shock and bewilderment. “Maybe he’s off to make moon eyes at Cilia Cole some more. Or maybe he’s got an eye for Bode and was worried you’d catch him peeking.”

“He should be,” Abell snorted. “Just as well the girls are off at their lessons.”

Egwene pursed her lips at that and Rand wondered f she'd been hoping to meet up with the Cauthon girls. Egwene made friends with other girls easily, though she could be quick to fall out with them too; Bode was one of those who were in her good graces these days.

Mistress Cauthon hurried by, her thick brown braid bobbing behind her. “As if we don’t have enough nonsense to deal with. Stay out of trouble, Mat.”

“Of course!” Mat did a credible job of sounding aggrieved at his mother’s implication. Abell gave their son a friendly slap on the shoulder as he strode off towards the Winespring Inn.

Mat watched them go, a cheerful smile plastered to his face. But as soon as his parents had passed out of view, he made a beeline for the stables, skinny legs pumping fast. He could move surprisingly quickly when he wanted to. Rand and the others followed at a more sensible pace.

Egwene sighed in exasperation. “What have you woolheads been getting up to this time?”

“I have nothing to do with it. Whatever it is,” said Perrin.

Their footsteps rustled the straw scattered upon the ground of the dimly lit stables. As Rand’s eyes adjusted he found several horses leaning over their stalls and eyeing the newcomers curiously. Mat had moved further in and was rummaging inside an empty stall when Rand approached.

“Blood and butt-kissing ashes!” he swore. “That pratt Dav Ayellin must have set it loose before running for the hills.” He had an old sack and a loose piece of rope in his hands. “Ah, it would have been a laugh to see them all run shrieking.” The sack and rope dropped to the ground and Mat shrugged. “Well, it’ll still be a hell of a celebration.”

Egwene stood in the middle of the stables with her hands planted on her slim hips. “Let me guess. You caught some manner of mangy critter and were planning to loose it near the Spring Pole to try and frighten the young women. Honestly, that the three of you should qualify as grown men says all there is to say about your gender.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Perrin muttered again.

Mat grinned unabashedly while Rand scrubbed a hand through his hair. Egwene had a point, it wouldn’t have been very nice to spoil the girls’ big day. Still, when he imagined them all shrieking and running in circles with their hands in the air, his lips twitched a smile.

With a sigh, Egwene tossed her braid back over her shoulder and strolled around the stables, checking each of the stalls. “The least you could do would be to show some gratitude to women like Nynaeve and I for putting up with you. Most women, less patient—or just less stubborn—than we Theren women, would put you out and let you fend for yourselves.” Having finished her short patrol, she stopped and ran her eyes over the three boys critically.

Rand felt compelled to speak up. “Tam and I take care of ourselves, you might recall. He even owns his own farm.”

Egwene sniffed. “It’s a shame that he’s such a stubborn man. If he’d only remarried, neither of you would have had to struggle so hard to make do.” She shook her head sadly, regarding Rand with a mixture of fondness and pity. It made his cheeks colour, but whether it was from embarrassment or anger he could not quite decide.

“It hasn’t been anywhere near the struggle you imagine,” he muttered.

“Still, gratitude is owed, as I said,” Egwene continued, not hearing or just ignoring Rand’s words. Her voice sounded rather breathy suddenly. She was staring at Perrin’s brown shirt, which was not at all large enough to hide the blacksmith apprentice’s thick chest muscles. “And since I’m a grown woman now, I think I shall allow you to work off your debts.”

Egwene’s cheeks had a pretty, rosy hue to them. She took a single deep breath, then pulled her white blouse up over her head. The three boys gaped at her. Coolly, a slight smile on her lips, she hung the blouse over the door of an empty stall. Only the frilly white cotton of her camisole hid her young breasts from their suddenly intent stares.

Egwene pointed towards the hayloft with an excited gleam in her big dark eyes, “Fetch some large bundles Matrim,” she commanded.

Mat opened his mouth as if to object, but the thought of what could follow if he obeyed stole the defiance from his lips. He moved as if in a daze as he climbed the ladder to fetch what Egwene wanted.

The girl in question watched him climb with pursed lips, each quickening breath causing the thin material of her undershirt to expand and contract in an eye-catching manner. She turned her attention to Rand and Perrin. “You two can take your clothes off now. I want to see your bodies.”

“What is going on Egwene,” asked Perrin with incredulity written plain on his face.

Egwene smiled brightly and shook her head. “Oh, Perrin. You’re such a silly boy sometimes. Endearing silly, though. Consider this a going away party. One I’m certain you will never forget.”

Rand’s cheeks were red once more, though definitely not from anger this time. He began to undo the buttons on his coat.

Perrin turned and gaped at him; he was still staring when Rand discarded the coat and went to work on the laces of his shirt. A bale of hay landing beside them with a muffled thump caused the normally unflappable youth to jump. Shaking his curly-haired head, he transferred his stare to Egwene, then slowly started to undo his own shirt with nervous, fumbling fingers, looking very much as though he had been poleaxed.

Another hay bale thudded to the ground as Rand discarded his shirt. It made for a comfortable seat as he began to undo the laces on his boots.

Egwene was watching him with a pleased smile on her pretty face. “You are pretty though. So tall, and such fair skin. I’ve never met anyone else who looks at all like you,” she mused.

Perrin folded his shirt studiously before setting it down. His cheeks burned, and he was careful to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. Thick slabs of muscle, and a generous supply of dark hair covered the young blacksmith’s body. Egwene’s eyes drank in the sight and her smile grew even wider.

Several bales later an already half-undressed Mat hopped down from the loft and moved to stand beside his two friends, his wiry form a stark contrast to their more muscular physiques. When all three boys were down to their undershorts they stopped, shuffling their feet and glancing at the still-dressed Egwene uncertainly.

The Mayor’s daughter gestured at their shorts impatiently.

Mat was the first to doff his underwear. Grinning excitedly as he revealed his already-hard manhood, rising long and thin from a thatch of brown hair.

Egwene’s efforts to appear calm and collected were not enough to prevent her from blushing red, nor to hide her gulp.

Rand thought her altogether more attractive then, than when she had been posing coolly before them. He bent and pulled his shorts down over his long, muscular legs; then kicked them aside. The slight stir of air upon his exposed nudity sent shivers all over his body—more than the mild temperature in the stables warranted. Egwene licked her lips as she examined his cock, which was only just beginning to stir.

Perrin took a deep breath and followed the other boys’ example, cheeks burning even hotter than before. Rand couldn’t help but steal a peek at the burly boy’s hard manhood. It was thicker than Mat’s, but not as long.

Egwene smiled slowly as she surveyed the three naked young men arrayed before her. With confident deliberation she loosened the ties on her thick woollen skirt and allowed it to pool around her feet. Underneath she wore loose white drawers and stout brown stockings that reached to her knees. Her waist was slim and her hips well-rounded. Rand felt himself stir as he watched her undress.

She sat upon a hay bale to remove her sensible shoes and slide the warm wool stockings down her slender legs. One arm disappeared deftly within her camisole and soon the white top was pushed up and over her head. A trio of indrawn breaths greeted the sight of her pert young breasts, not large, but certainly not small either. Egwene’s excited breaths caused them to rise and fall hypnotically. She grinned widely as she stood to pull her underwear down, her breasts and dark braid dangling before her. Rand was hard as a rock by the time he laid eyes on her lightly-thatched pussy. He took an involuntary step towards her and Egwene raised a cautionary finger.

“You look lovely, Egwene.” Perrin’s voice was husky. He had not moved from his spot but when Rand glanced back he saw his friend’s fully erect cock twitching excitedly.

Egwene gestured imperiously towards an empty stall. “Drag one of those bales over against that door, Mat.”

“Why do I have to do all the work?” moaned Mat, but he hopped quickly to it nonetheless. His narrow haunches straining as he dragged the bundle across his family’s barn.

While Mat was busy working, Egwene advanced towards Perrin and took him gently by the chin. She stood on tiptoes to kiss his lips softly; Perrin’s brown eyes drifted closed as her returned her kiss with equal tenderness. One of Egwene’s eyes slid open and she gave Rand a sly glance, still kissing his friend.

“There,” announced Mat with a loud dusting of his hands.

Egwene broke the kiss and turned towards the stable, allowing Rand to catch a glimpse of her slim, flat bottom. She took a seat upon the hay bale as though it were a throne and beckoned to Rand impatiently. “Since you’re so desperately impatient, Rand, I suppose I’ll allow you to show me your appreciation first.” She leaned back against the stall door, and spread her legs slightly, giving them all a glimpse of her pink, and glistening, sex.

Rand wasn’t about to refuse such an offer. His long, thick cock led the way as he knelt before Egwene and took her face in his hands, kissing her lips hungrily. Her legs spread for him and her hands slipped around to caress the muscles of his back. The tip of his cock rested against her young sex; Rand slid along her slit, seeking out the hottest, wettest part of Egwene. When he found it, he slid easily inside her.

The two youths clutched at each other as they gasped in exploratory pleasure. Rand wanted more, wanted to feel her heat all around him. When he pushed forwards he encountered some kind of resistance. Egwene bit him lightly on the shoulder and he would have stopped, but her sharp nails digging into his buttocks urged him onwards. His breath came in short, light groans as he worked his way into Egwene, savouring the sweet heat of her sex.

There was mingled pain and pleasure in her eyes when he leant back to look at her. Egwene took a firm hold of Rand’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss, almost of their own volition his hips began to rock back and forth, stroking his cock along her wet pussy.

Rand’s thrusts were long and slow. He held Egwene to his chest tenderly as they fucked, her pert young breasts pressed against his hard chest. She nibbled on his ear for a bit, it was an odd, but not entirely unpleasant sensation. He sped up, the pleasure and hunger taking hold of his mind.

Egwene was hungry too though, and not for Rand, or at least not only for Rand. She took a firm hold of Rand’s hips to stop his thrusting. He blinked at her confusedly.

“Perrin’s turn,” she panted. Rand let out a groan of frustration, one that was echoed by Mat. When Rand glanced at him he saw that his friend was stroking himself and likely had been while he watched Rand and Egwene fuck. Excitement warred with embarrassment in his heart. Dutifully, Rand pulled himself out of Egwene’s wet pussy. He sat back with a sigh, the straw tickling his naked buttocks.

Egwene beckoned Perrin towards her with crooked finger and a confident smile. When the burly youth only stared at her she rose from her straw throne with a tut of exasperation and marched across the dirt floor to fetch him. Taking Perrin by his curly brown hair, Egwene pulled his lips down for a kiss. She guided his hands to her young breasts and urged him to caress them. Intent concentration fought with nervous desire on Perrin's face as he carefully kneaded Egwene's tender flesh in his powerful hands. Her eyes drifted shut in pleasure. “Push those bales together you two,” Egwene murmured.

Rand clambered quickly to his feet and dusted straw from his bottom. He had little difficulty shifted the bales, for years of conscientious farmwork had strengthened his body. Egwene watched him work appreciatively as Perrin attended to her body and Mat stared at her open-mouthed, hand still running up and down his hard young cock.

When the improvised bed was prepared, Egwene took hold of Perrin's meaty manhood and laughed at the loud moan he let out. She led him by the cock to the straw pallet and put one hand to his chest; for all Perrin's bulk, and Egwene’s slight figure, she easily knocked him onto his back. Rand drank in the sight of her body as she crawled up to kneel above Perrin's eager sex.

“Oh Light, Egwene!” Perrin cried as the young woman sank down on his cock. He crushed great handfuls of straw in the grip he did not dare use on her. Once he was fully sheathed within her wet sex Egwene quickly started grinding herself against him and moaning sweetly.

It struck Rand, as he watched Egwene ride one his oldest friends, that he should be jealous. It had been made plain to him years ago that he and Egwene were supposed to marry when they were older, and Egwene was now officially a woman by Theren standards. How exactly they had come to be considered promised to one another Rand had never been able to discern; certainly his opinion on the matter had not been sought, to his great frustration! Egwene was beautiful and smart, the Mayor's youngest daughter, Rand’s almost-betrothed; and he found himself smiling as he watched her fuck another man. Did that mean he didn't really love her?

Egwene didn’t seem fazed by such thoughts either. She let out an exhausted whoop as she clambered off Perrin and sprawled beside him on the straw. Perrin's cock stood red and unsated, glistening with their juices. Egwene glistened too, sweat coating her as she gasped for breath. She raised her head just enough to catch Mat's eye and shoot him an inviting smile.

He was quick to take her up on her offer, kneeling on the straw he placed his hands behind Egwene's knees and pushed her slender legs apart to expose her pink slit. Mat shoved himself inside Egwene without preamble. All the way to the hilt he went, and once there he quickly began to ride her hard.

“Fucking hell Egwene,” groaned Mat, “That is a sweet pussy you have.”

“Mind your language, Matrim Cauthon,” said Egwene as she lay on her back, legs spread wide, her brows creased and eyes squeezed shut in what was not pain. Her breasts jiggled madly from Mat’s frantic fucking; her nipples had somehow gotten even larger than when she had first unveiled them. The sight mesmerised Rand.

“Wait,” gasped Egwene after a time. Her eyes shot open and she looked up at Mat who continued to thrust in and out of her desperately. She placed a hand on his chest to stop him, ineffectively at first, but just when Rand was about to intervene, Mat's awareness of himself returned.

“Wa?” said the skinny farmboy succinctly.

Egwene pushed him again and he obligingly slid his cock out of her, as unsated as the rest of them.

With a light sniff, Egwene rose back to her knees. Her eyes sought out Rand and he moved to join her without need of more. He pressed her hot flesh against him and kissed her deeply. Soft breasts teased his chest as his hands ran down her smooth back to squeeze her buttocks. Egwene's kisses were ardent now, ardent but brief, for it was not his lips she wanted to taste. Egwene kissed her way down Rand's neck and broad chest, lowered her braided head until her face was close to Rand's cock. Her tongue darted out to touch the head lightly, even that enough to bring a gasp from Rand. Egwene looked thoughtful for a moment—contemplating the taste, he suspected—then she grinned wickedly, opened her mouth and began sucking Rand's cock.

She only took the head into her mouth, but that was more than enough to set Rand to moaning. Perrin shifted his position to stare at the show but made no move to join in, waiting for Egwene's word. Mat however soon took hold of Egwene's slim hips and pulled her ass upwards; he lowered his face to meet her and began licking the slit of her sex. Egwene moaned in appreciation, Rand felt it through his cock and shuddered. Her saliva dribbled down the length of his manhood as Mat's nimble tongue explored her sex.

Egwene’s big brown eyes darted open and she took Rand’s cock out of her mouth. She glanced about her, saw Perrin and quickly hopped atop him once more, accidentally slapping Mat’s unprepared face with one ass-cheek in the process; he gave a low squawk of offense that she ignored as she took hold of Perrin’s cock and placed it before her wettest hole.

“Oh, yes,” gasped Perrin as Egwene took him inside her. He reached up and began kneading her breasts again.

Egwene paid little heed. She reached out, grasped Mat’s still-hard cock, and pulled him nearer almost roughly. Rand had never seen her move so frantically before. As she lowered her face towards Mat’s crotch she looked up at Rand and said in a surprisingly smoky voice, “That just leaves one hole for you ...” Then she closed her eyes and began sucking Mat, while riding Perrin.

Rand had a great view of Egwene’s butt as she rode Perrin hard and fast. Each time she sank down on his cock, her tight asshole opened slightly. The sight was enticing to Rand, and he did not waste long watching it. He got to his feet and walked around the straw pallet until he could kneel directly behind Egwene. He stilled her movements with a firm grip on her hips, which brought a groan of frustration from Perrin; it turned briefly to one of confusion when the wet head of Rand’s cock trailed along the other man’s shaft, seeking and soon finding Egwene’s back entrance. Perrin started thrusting upwards into Egwene even as Rand began to work his way into her tight ass. Egwene resisted him fiercely but all the same Rand’s manhood was soon slipping into her dry heat. The dual penetration set her to moaning around Mat’s cock.

The three friends buried their cocks in Egwene’s willing body. They fucked her with desperate abandon. Even when Mat took her by the sides of her face and held her still so he could thrust into her mouth, she did not object. Rand worked his way deeper and deeper into Egwene’s ass, his head thrown back and teeth gritted. Perrin thrust eagerly into her soaking wet pussy. All four youths were completely lost to the pleasure that wracked their bodies.

Almost completely.

Rand saw movement from the corner of his eye, and turned his face towards the still-shut barn door. His thrusts slowed slightly, but Egwene didn’t notice. He searched in vain for what had drawn his attention, and was close to writing it off as his guilt-fuelled imagination when he noticed a dark eye in a girl’s round face staring back at him through a gap in the planking. Bodewhin, Mat’s little sister. Rand’s heart skipped a beat.  _ She must have ducked out of her lessons _ , he thought,  _ hopefully she can keep a secret _ . Their eyes met. He raised a hand to brush his sweat-slick hair back and discreetly pressed a finger to his lips. He could swear he saw Bode smile back at him. If she ran off and told Nynaeve or the Mayor they would all lose their hides, but there was nothing he could do to stop her. Regardless of whether she told on them or not, there was no point stopping now. He might as well enjoy what life he had left. He took hold of Egwene’s hips and fucked her with renewed ardour, the idea of being watched by young Bodewhin Cauthon strangely thrilling.

Suddenly Egwene’s muffled moans took on an annoyed tone, she jerked Mat’s cock out of her mouth and pointed it away from her. Mat stifled his cries as best he could as he spurted on the floor of his families barn, Rand couldn’t tell how much was pain, pleasure or disappointment. Egwene spat loudly, milky fluid mixed with her own saliva, and glared at the skinny farmboy. “I swear Mat, you are utterly hopeless. I told you to be careful.”

“Huh?” Mat said dazedly. “You never said anything about this.”Ayellin. Cillia cn (spanked by Nynaeve for fucking)

Egwene sniffed. “Does a woman have to tell you everything then?” her voice had taken on a higher pitch than usual. “Honestly. Some things even you should be able to figure out on your own.” She shook her head in matriarchal disapproval. Which was no mean feat considering she was pinned, sweaty and jiggling, between two lust-crazed farmboys.

Mat paid little heed to her complaints, instead sprawling naked and sweaty on the straw with a sleepily satisfied grin on his face. Rand wondered what he would think if he knew his little sister had just watched him come.

He put the thought from his mind, watching the dark braid of Egwene's hair wave between her narrow shoulders as they continued fucking. Rand stroked her ass long and hard, while Perrin pounded her pussy with short, sharp thrusts.

Egwene sucked in a sharp breath and tensed. Sensing her imminent climax, Rand quickened his pace, rubbing himself in her butt feverishly, determined to finish in time. The girl threw back her dark head and grunted her victory at the rafters of the barn. Her anus tightened painfully around Rand’s member, and with a final few forceful jerks he exploded within her with a shout of satisfaction. For what seemed a long time afterwards each breath carried with it a new wave of pleasure and dragged a new moan from the lips or both Rand and Egwene.

In time, Rand fell back to his knees, spent. Egwene was purring in satisfaction as Perrin rubbed her young breasts with his big, careful hands. “That was beautiful, Egwene,” whispered the blacksmith’s apprentice.

Egwene didn’t seem to hear. She brushed loose strands of her dark hair back from her face and blinked around them. Then she reached back and pushed Rand away from her, his manhood slipping out of her stretched and soiled butthole. With a groan she rose to her feet, Perrin’s still-hard member abandoned. She stood over them all for a moment, catching her breath, then walked towards her discarded clothes on shaky legs. Perrin stared after her dolefully, but said nothing. When she reached her skirts, Egwene put her knees together and dipped down to gather them, which afforded the boys an excellent view of her slim young hips and bottom. All three stared. She had her back mostly turned, but Rand could see a pleased smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she stood and settled the heavy fabric around her waist; he knew she was enjoying the attention.

As she was lacing up her cotton blouse, Egwene turned back to the trio and grinned. "Well. You boys won’t soon forget this, will you?” she said happily. Rand watched as she tied the last of her laces, hiding her young breasts from view once more. He raised his eyes to hers and found her smiling confidently at him. “Don’t go thinking I’ll make a habit of treating you like this though,” she continued, not waiting for anyone to answer. “You’ll need to be on your best behaviours if you want to earn  _ my _ attention.” She bent to snatch her discarded underwear from the ground, stuffing them behind her waistband as she strode towards the barn door. “Be sure to clean this place up before Mistress Cauthon gets back,” she called to them. “I’ll be counting on you to make sure these two don’t slack off, Perrin.”

The young blacksmith clambered to his feet with a sigh, straw clinging to his sweat-soaked buttocks. “Alright Egwene, don’t worry,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. Egwene took one more look back at the three naked youths, grinned brightly and slipped out the barn door.

Rand stood and stretched, letting out a long sigh as he did so. No sign of their unexpected audience, he noted. She was probably long gone. He imagined they would know soon enough if Bode had gone to tell on them. Nynaeve and the Women’s Circle would be so outraged they would probably be able to hear the shouting from the other side of the mountains.

“Did you not get off then?” asked Mat, leaning back against a bay of hale with his hands crossed behind his back. His grin could only be described as “smug”.

“It’s fine,” Perrin said stoutly. He moved to gather up the haybales.

“Ah don’t be a fool, Perrin,” Mat said as he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Go take care of yourself while you still remember what those pretty titties looked like, me and Rand’ll fix this place up.”

“He’s right, don’t worry about it,” Rand added.

Perrin looked embarrassed, even after all the three of them had already done. He gave the other two boys a gruff “Thanks” before stumping off to one of the empty stalls. There was a loud creak as he leaned his considerable bulk against the wooden wall, the noise soon followed by the all-too familiar sound of flesh rubbing frantically against flesh.

Rand shot Mat a crooked grin that even he would have been proud of as the two friends sat to pull on their trousers. “Bel Tine is off to a great start this year. I think it might turn out to be the best one ever.”


	3. Bel Tine

CHAPTER 5: Bel Tine

The Green was filling up with Theren folk when the three friends arrived back at the Winespring Inn. Laughter and the confused sound of many voices speaking at once filled the air. No angry mob of elders was gathering yet, to Rand’s relief.

They passed Alene al’Vere on their way, who had likely been driven from the inn by the commotion. She was the middle of the Mayor’s five daughters and Rand had heard from Mat that there was a rumour she hadn’t been fathered by Bran but by some outland traveller. Alene’s hair was a yellowish brown colour, like wheat on a wet spring day, and her eyes were a lighter shade of hazel than most Theren folk; which was all the evidence some needed. Rand had no time for that rumour. He himself looked nothing like his father after all. Having red hair didn’t make him less a Theren man, and a little straw in hers didn’t make Alene anything but Bran’s daughter. Still, he didn’t bother waving as they strolled past the tree that she sheltered beneath; Rand enjoyed Alene’s company, but when she had her nose in a book, as she did now, nothing could drag her attention away.

Bandry Crawe and long-faced Lem Thane did notice the trio’s arrival though, and raised their hands in greeting from across the field. They were part of Rand’s circle of friends here in town, along with Dav and Elam. Bandry and Lem always came as a pair, and from what he could tell from a distance they both seemed to be flirting with buxom Emry Lewin. Rand glanced away, as his thoughts turned traitorous.

Mat’s thoughts had gone down the same road. “I wonder if Emry would like to visit the Thanes’ mill with Lem and Ban,” he suggested with a smirk.

Perrin frowned. “You shouldn’t spread such ideas, Mat. Not without proof, maybe not even then.”

Rand spotted Bar Dowtry and Kimry Lewin sitting together and silently watching the feast preparations, he gave a slight nod in their direction. “Such behaviour could bring the Women’s Circle down on you. Like it did for those two,” he added portentously.

Perrin looked daunted by the thought, but Mat scoffed. “No way I’d have let Nynaeve take a switch to me like Bar did. I’d sooner leave town completely, and take my chances out in the world. Maybe he and Kimry never even wanted to get married, maybe they just wanted to have a little fun between chores. Did the Circle and the Council ever think of that?”

“It’s their duty to enforce the rules,” said Perrin with a sigh. “Even if some of them didn’t mind it, the rules are still the rules.”

Mat gave him a sly grin. “Are you planning to confess everything to the Wisdom and marry Egwene then?” His grin grew wider. “Or are we all supposed to marry her? That would give the oldster’s a fit!”

“Keep your voice down Mat,” Rand said firmly. “Bar and Kimry were seen by too many people so they were made an example of. We should be fine so long as no-one goes flapping their gums in public about stuff that’s supposed to be private.”

Mat suddenly found himself getting glared at from right and left by his two friends. “Oh that’s how it is, huh? I’m the untrustworthy one. Pfft, burn the both of you.” Despite his words, Mat was grinning.

They passed by a long trestle table where food was already being piled. Only fruits and vegetables as yet, the warm stuff would come later, but Rand’s stomach still rumbled loudly at the sight. “The food is for whoever wants, Rand. Help yourself,” said Berowyn al’Vere, with a kind smile. She was the Mayor’s eldest daughter, a widow whose husband and daughter had been carried off by a fever five years ago.

Rand smiled back at her. “Thanks Berowyn, don’t mind if I do.” He snatched up some apples and a cup of cold milk. “Do you know what the Circle plans to do about all these outsiders and the news they brought?”

Berowyn’s look of mild rebuke somehow stung more than all Egwene’s criticisms combined. “I shouldn’t be spreading gossip Rand. My mother will let people know what’s been decided when she feels it prudent.”

He hastily changed the subject. “Will you be dancing around the Spring Pole this year?”

She raised her brows in surprise. “An old woman like me? I don’t think that would be very appropriate.”

“Don’t be silly, Berowyn. You’re barely thirty and you look barely twenty. I’m sure you’d have men tripping over each other for the chance to dance with you.” That was plain truth. Berowyn was slender and pretty, with a thick brown braid that fell almost to her knees.

She shook her head and smiled wistfully. “Those days are past. Enjoy the celebrations, Rand,” she said before moving off towards the Green, where her sister Elisa was overseeing the decorating of the Pole.

Mat nudged Rand in the ribs with his elbow. “Got a taste for al’Veres now have you?”

Rand shot him a glare. “It’s not like that. Berowyn’s always been nice to me, is all.”

“Bet you wish she’d been nicer though,” Mat purred. “I bet you ... hey! Where’s my badger!?”

“Her ... badger?” Rand asked. He cocked his head confusedly, he had heard the phrase “easing the badger” before but had never been entirely certain what it meant. And was too shy to ask.

Dav’s familiar voice made Rand jump. “I had no choice, your parents nearly found it. I saved us both!”

Rand turned to find Mat menacing their friend with a shaken fist. Though Dav Ayellin was a good deal stockier than Mat, he backed up hastily with his open hands raised. Mat might be skinny, but he had won the quarterstaff competition for the last three years running. Among the younger men at least; the elders’ competition had gone to Mat’s father Abell for as long as Rand could remember.

Elam Dowtry, Dannil Lewin and Jaim Torfinn had arrived with Dav. Rand eyed Jaim, who seemed strong and healthy, with a confident look in his deep-set eyes. Jaim had come second in the archery last year, and Rand expected him to be his main competition this year, too. Like Cauthons with quarterstaffs, the al’Thors, young and old, had made winning the archery almost a tradition. Rand gave Jaim a polite if cool nod, and got a matching one in return.

While Mat argued with Dav, and Perrin asked if Dannil had seen his sisters and little brother about, Rand turned to Elam.

“Have you seen the new arrivals? We ran into Lady Moiraine and Lan earlier. Unnerving fellow, that Lan. Never said a word, just stared.”

Elam nodded. “I’ve seen them. Lan has eyes like yours, all blue and chilly.” He gave a nervous laugh. “To look at, I mean. Not that you’re a chilly sort.”

“Thanks,” Rand muttered, taking a bite from his apple.

“But that Moiraine,” Elam paused and gave a low whistle. “I’ve never seen a woman who looked like that before. Even Egwene al’Vere and Larine Ayellin can’t compete.” Elam’s smile seemed to light up his square face.

Rand looked over to the Green, where Larine and her sister Marisa were chatting with their friends. Dav’s little sisters were a very pretty pair, near Egwene’s age and with only a year’s difference between them. But with them was Susa al’Seen, short and slim and always nervous; up from Deven Ride again to visit her relatives. And there was Jerilin al’Caar, thin as a stick, with her boisterous sense of humour; Cilia Cole, plump, pink-cheeked and sweetly flirtatious; Marce Eldin, stocky, strong and serious, like a female Perrin. And many others. To Rand, they were all pretty.

“I don’t think there’s any competition to take part in,” he said slowly. “How would you ever decide who won, after all? All women are pretty, what point is there to comparing?”

Elam rolled his eyes. “They can’t hear you, you know,” he said flatly. “And if that’s true then maybe you should go ask Alsbet Luhhan to dance,” he added with a knowing smile.

Mistress Luhhan was married to the blacksmith, Perrin’s master, and had no qualms about helping her husband out in the forge. She was nearly as muscular as him, too, with a hard, round face that brooked no nonsense. In the years since he started his apprenticeship, Perrin had never once had anything bad to say about her, or her husband.  _ I doubt Alsbet would welcome my advances, or anyone else’s, but I certainly wouldn’t turn down a dance with her _ , Rand thought.

Whatever expression he saw on Rand’s face, Elam misread. “Exactly,” he said with a firm nod.

Rand shrugged. Elam was a friend and it was hardly worth arguing over.

“Well obviously Perrin’s going to win the weight lifting,” Mat was saying. “And Rand’ll take the longrace like he does every year, though the short’s a harder one to call.”

“I might put a bet on little Saml al’Seen for the shortrace,” said Dannil.

“He can’t be more than ten,” objected Dav.

“Twelve, but he’s quick as a snake.”

“Emi will beat him,” Perrin said stoutly. “But his brother Wil will probably win the singing.”

Mat snorted rudely. “Wil. He’s not even that good a singer.” Wil al’Seen was a handsome man, and quite popular. Well, with women. His fellow men tended to regard him less warmly.

“No doubt he’ll win the dancing, too,” said Dannil morosely. He was a lanky young beanpole, with a long nose and weak chin, but very nimble on his feet. A distant cousin of the Emond’s Field Lewins, he bore little resemblance to Emry and her kin. It was like that for a lot of families in the Theren, though not Rand’s. So far as he knew, he and Tam were the only al’Thor’s left, distant or otherwise.

“I wasn’t the only one who thought you should have won last year, Dannil,” Rand put in. “Maybe folk will remember that when it’s time to choose.”

Dannil smiled gratefully and straightened up. “I just have to do my best, whatever the result.”

“There’s always the sheep shearing competition,” said Mat with a grin. “You lads can still hope to win that.”

“They’ll have no competition from you at least,” sighed Perrin. “It would be too much like working.”

Rand finished his second apple and left his friends to their banter. He wandered off towards the stables of the Winespring Inn, to share the cores with Bela. Mat was proclaiming himself the sure champion of the coming darts contest when Rand pushed the stable door open and slipped inside.

The stable was a long, narrow building, topped by a high-peaked, thatched roof. Stalls, their floors covered with straw, filled both sides of the dim interior, lit only by the open double doors at either end. The peddler’s team munched their oats in eight stalls, and Mistress al’Vere’s massive Dhurrans, the team she hired out when farmers had hauling beyond the abilities of their own horses, filled six more.

It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, so he soon realised he was not alone. Loise al’Vere looked away disinterestedly when his eyes met hers. Loise was usually disinterested in people, male or female. She said little, though Egwene claimed that Mistress al’Vere often asked Loise to help organise their finances; and she had few friends, though plenty had tried to befriend her, Rand included. She liked to climb and would often disappear by herself into the woods, two habits Rand shared, and since she was only a few years older than him he had thought they would get along. But Loise was Loise—a girl of few words and fewer expressions, and had declined his offers of company.

“Hello Loise,” Rand said with a bright smile. “I saw your sisters outside. What are you doing in the stables?”

“Looking at the new horses,” she said in her low voice. She gestured towards a stall with her chin, her stubby braid waving. Loise kept her hair cut short, only barely long enough to braid. If not for that tradition, Rand suspected she would have had it cut as short as any boy’s.

Rand walked over to the stall she indicated and couldn’t help but gasp. Inside was a huge stallion, muscular and proud, with a coat as black as night. “Well aren’t you a handsome fellow,” he said, staring.

“He’s Lan’s. The other is Moiraine’s.” The other in question was in the next stall over; a white mare, sleek and bright-eyed.

“Lovely. I wonder if they’re hungry.” He made to offer the black an apple core.

“Don’t do that!” Loise’s voice was sharper than he had ever heard it. He looked over at her in surprise. “Master Lan warned us not to touch his horse. It’s been trained to fight, he said.”

Rand snatched his hand back, suddenly perturbed by the way the black was eyeing him. He backed up a few steps. “Oh. Well. It’s just as well you were here, Loise. I might have lost a few fingers.” His laughter was weak, nervous and trailed of quickly.

The alarm on Loise’s face had been replaced with her more familiar expression. “Yes. That would have been a shame. Be careful.”

Rand located Bela in her stall. The old mare’s gentle nature was suddenly all the more welcome. Even when Rand showed her the apple cores she remained placid, taking them from his hands almost daintily. He smiled fondly and rubbed the side of her neck.

Loise had been watching him, but when he turned to leave she fixed her attention on the strange horses once more.

“Well. I hope to see you later, at the celebrations. Take care, Loise.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, as he left.

There was a new arrival in their group when Rand rejoined his friends. “There you are,” she said gruffly. “My da and I were worried about you two. The roads aren’t as safe as they used to be.” Anna al’Tolan reached out and shook Rand’s hand, her grip as firm as ever. If Loise did not quite dare buck tradition, Anna trampled it underfoot. Her brown hair was even shorter than Rand’s, her clothes would normally have belonged to a boy and worst of all her last name was not her mother’s. Anna’s mother had died birthing her, and ever since she was old enough to speak she had insisted on using the name of Jorge al’Tolan, the father who had raised her. A fact which caused no amount of sniffing from the Women’s Circle; not that Anna ever seemed to care what they thought.

Rand grinned at her. “I’m glad to see you. We were worried, too. Especially Perrin.”

A look of alarm crossed the young blacksmith’s face. “Everyone was worried. It was a hard winter. And there is talk of war outside the Theren. Not especially Perrin, everyone.”

“Well, that’s sweet, but I’m fine,” said Anna in a firm tone. “What was that about war though?”

Mat and the others hastened to fill her in on the peddler’s news. Rand said nothing, preferring to watch Perrin squirm. It was no great secret that his big friend had a crush on Anna, though whether Anna herself was aware of it Rand had never dared ask; she was as close as Rand had ever had to a sister, and he was wary of doing anything that would drive a wedge between them. Perrin kept glancing from Anna—listening intently to the story Mat, Elam and the rest were tripping over each other to tell—to his own sisters, Adora and Deselle, who were seemingly busy trying to tickle their little brother to death out on the Green. Paetram’s laughter rang loudly across the field. Rand waited for Perrin to make an excuse and leave, as he had many times before, but this time the burly youth surprised him. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned back towards the group.

When the story was done, Anna nodded thoughtfully, her already firm jaw set firmer still. “Huh. Hopefully the war won’t touch us. The Lord and Lady sound interesting, the gleeman more so. But I don’t much care for fireworks, and the wolves and that black-cloaked horseman should be our main concern, not a silly feastday.”

Mat threw up his hands. “How can you make it sound so boring?”

“She’s just being sensible,” said Perrin stoutly. Anna gave him a bright smile. She was a short and stocky girl, though most of her weight was muscle—she was one of the only women he knew who could pull a longbow, and was a better-than-good shot with it—but when she smiled it brought out her dimples and lit up her square face.

“Wait. You saw the horseman, too?” Rand said quietly.

Anna’s smile died, but she looked relieved. “So it wasn’t just us. He was following my da and I for a bit, but made sure to keep his distance and wouldn’t answer when da called out to him. Then he took off into the trees. Like to break his horse’s leg doing that, or his own fool neck.” She pursed her lips. “That last might not be so terrible, mind. Just looking at that creep made my skin crawl.”

“Mine, too.” Rand wasn’t certain that he’d wish death on the man, but that feeling of uneasiness he’d inspired was hard to shake.

“What are you two talking about?” asked Jaim.

Perrin answered for them. “Some stranger who’s been lurking about lately. Mat and I saw him, too. He rides a black horse, wears a black hooded cloak and never speaks, just stares at folk.”

Elam, Dav, Dannil and Jaim exchanged glances.

“That’s the first I’ve heard of him,” said Dannil.

Elam looked surprised. “I just assumed it was Mat being Mat.”

“If you mean being right as usual, then yes,” said Mat acerbically.

“Either way, it would be best to keep your eyes open when travelling, I’d say. And your bows strung,” Rand advised, then he shrugged and smiled. “But that’s a worry for another day. It’s a long walk to town, are you hungry Anna?”

“I could eat a cow,” she responded, slapping her belly.

Dav and Elam wanted to go talk to Larine and her friends so they parted company as they crossed the Green. Dannil and Jaim went with them.

“Tell Marisa Ayellin I said hi,” called Mat.

“Not a chance, I’ll tell her you said she looks like a goat,” Elam shot back, laughing.

On their way to the feast table they passed Corsen al’Rigg wrestling good-naturedly with Shevan al’Kiff. They were friends of Mat’s from farms farther east, but Rand didn’t know them that well. Mat paused briefly to watch, hooting and calling out advice.

“I haven’t seen Tief today,” Rand said to Perrin, “is he well?”

“His da was helping Mistress Luhhan around the house earlier. If he’s not at their place then Tief probably has Mishelle duties again.”

Rand nodded. That had often been the case since his mother died. He hoped their friend wouldn’t miss the whole festival. It would be good to see him again.

He could have done without seeing Calle Coplin again though, no matter how ... welcoming, she could be. He had turned her down firmly the last time she’d propositioned him, much more firmly than he had the two times before. It wasn’t that she was ugly or that he was disgusted by her habits—he’d half to be a pretty massive hypocrite for that to be the case—it was just that something about her smirking sneakiness put him off.

Thankfully, she didn’t notice him. Calle was whispering something to Ewal, who was also a Coplin, though what his exact relation was to Calle Rand was not certain; the Coplins and the Congars were much more intermarried than any other families in the Theren. She laughed at whatever he said in response and touched his arm familiarly. Rand wondered why Calle had never been married off like Kimry and Bar; she was in her mid twenties and had a certain reputation, after all.

“You can polish tin and make it shine like silver, but no amount of scrubbing will turn coal to marble,” mused Perrin. Rand glanced over and found his friend watching the Coplins, too.

“Are you thinking of giving up smithing and becoming a bard, Perrin?” Anna asked with a small smile.

Perrin blushed. “No. It’s the forge for me, definitely. I was just talking without thinking first.”

Anna shrugged. “You should do it more often then. Sounded sensible enough to me.”

As they reached the table, they saw little Alora Congar filch a ribbon from Elisa and run off. Elisa gave chase, but Alora was small and quick, and Elisa was somewhat wider than her sisters. Somehow Alora managed to tie the ribbon into her own hair as they disappeared from sight.

“Congars aren’t all bad,” Mat allowed as he rejoined them. “The little one has talent.”

“You would think that Matrim Cauthon,” sniffed Eldrin. Mat’s youngest sister was barely thirteen, with a new crop of pimples on her face. But she had long since decided to mirror their mother in matronly disapproval of all things Mat.

Her brother rolled his eyes as he sat across the table from her. “Don’t you have lessons today Eldrin? Or chores to do. A monster to slay off on the other side of the mountains? Or is that too much to hope for?”

“We were excused early. It  _ is _ Bel Tine you know.”

“Pity,” sighed Mat. Eldrin stuck her tongue out at him.

Perrin and Anna had joined his family at the other end of the table. Adora was only a year younger than Perrin, tall, slim and very pretty. Deselle was twelve, a little girl still; giggling now as their cousin Emi chased her around the table. Paetram was only nine and looked tiny sat beside Perrin, whom he looked up at with wide eyes. The four of them seemed to get along well, unlike Mat and his sisters. Rand might have no other family save Tam, but he enjoyed being around his friends and their kin, even when they fought.

“Yes, the celebrations started early. It was a long and ... hard winter, after all,” murmured Bodewhin as she seated herself beside Rand.

Rand found himself holding his breath. That was why his cheeks had turned red, the only reason why. He reached over and fumbled some mutton stew into a bowl, carefully not looking at her.

Bodewhin wasn’t done. “Did you three have any lessons today, Rand?” she asked in a guileless voice.

Rand faced her with what dignity he could muster. Bode was a plumply pretty girl, with very large breasts, though her long brown hair was still unbraided. Dark eyes stared back at him from a round face;  _ Mat’s eyes, Light have mercy _ . “Well, I only just got into town Bode and I am seventeen now, so no more lessons for me,” he said stiffly. “Still, that doesn’t mean there aren’t new things to learn.”

“I bet!” Bodewhin said with a grin.

“Burn me, don’t say that. They might send us back for more of Nynaeve’s Wisdomly wisdom,” groaned Mat.

Rand ignored him and carefully filled a second bowl; he placed it before Bode and said in a quiet voice, “You can learn a lot just by watching people,” Bodewhin blushed and leaned closer with a mischievous look in her eyes, Rand felt his own cheeks colour again. “For example, you can tell much about the kind of person someone is by seeing how well they keep a harmless secret.”

Bodewhin seemed more exasperated than moved by Rand’s efforts, so he slid a hand under the table and rested it lightly above her knee; he squeezed gently. Her eyes widened and she went very still. “Your stew’s getting cold,” Rand said casually, as he spooned up his own. It was very tasty he thought, and Bode seemed to agree from the way she began shovelling it into her mouth, carefully not looking at Rand. He stroked her thigh softly as they ate, but was saved the need to do more by the arrival of Mat’s cousin.

Imoen Candwin was about Eldrin’s age, but shared a lot more of Mat’s attitude than Mat’s littlest sister did. “What’s in the stew?” she asked as she stepped up beside Bode and began filling a bowl for herself, not bothering to wait for an answer. “Hey, Rand. Are you looking forward to the fireworks? They’re going to be great! Mat, Dav was looking for you earlier, what are you two up to this time? Oh, Eldrin, did you hear? Jancy Torfinn reckons the Women’s Circle will let her braid her hair next year. She’s younger than us! The nerve of her.”

“I hope so,” Rand murmured as Mat denied all, Eldrin tutted in annoyance and Imoen kept talking with barely a pause for their answers. In the distance he spotted Egwene making her way towards Larine and her friends, coming from the direction of Nynaeve’s house. He glanced over at Bode, but she was still focused on her bowl and looked oddly subdued.

“Rand. Your father is looking for you.” Loise’s voice made Rand jump guiltily and slap both hands firmly on the table, which temporarily dammed the flow of words from Imoen. She fixed Rand with a bright-eyed stare and cocked her head to the side. Rand endeavoured to look as innocent as he could; Imoen had a way of ferreting out people’s secrets, and the last thing he wanted was her getting curious.

He turned around on his stool. “Thanks Loise. Did he say where I could find him?”

“Inn’s common room.” Loise paused only long enough to awkwardly return Anna’s wave before striding off again.

Rand hastily spooned up the last of his stew. “I’ll see you all later then,” he mumbled as he rose.

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Eldrin scolded.

“Or keep your parents waiting, or leave without saying goodbye,” Rand added with a crooked smile that left the youngest Cauthon looking confused. Her elder sister, Bodewhin, watched him go with an unreadable look in her eyes.

Rand was halfway to the Winespring Inn when Mat and Perrin caught up to him.

“How did it go with Anna?” Rand asked.

“That’s ... hard to say. Even if I wanted to,” said Perrin quietly. Rand shrugged and did not press him.

When Rand pushed open the door to the inn he found Nynaeve clutching her braid in mid-tirade, with the Village Council looking put upon.

Bran al’Caar was shaking his head. “That gleeman may be more trouble than he’s worth.”

Nynaeve sniffed loudly. “Worry about the gleeman if you want, Brandelwyn al’Caar. At least he is in Emond’s Field, which is more than you can say for this false Dragon. But as long as you are worrying, there are others here who  _ should  _ excite your worry.”

“If you please, Wisdom,” Bran said stiffly, “kindly leave who should worry me to my deciding. Mistress Moiraine and Master Lan are guests in my wife’s inn, and decent, respectable folk, so I say. Neither of  _ them  _ has called me a fool in front of the whole Council. Neither of  _ them  _ has told the Council it hasn’t a full set of wits among them.”

“It seems my estimate was too high by half,” Nynaeve retorted. “Remind the Mayor to keep a close eye on those two, I don’t like all these questions they’ve been asking.” She strode out the door without a backward glance, mouth set and clutching her long braid in her fist, leaving Bran’s jaw working as he searched for a reply.

“That young woman wants a husband,” Cenn Buie growled, bouncing on his toes. His face was purple, and getting darker. “She lacks proper respect. We’re the Village Council, not boys raking her yard, and—”

Bran breathed heavily through his nose, and suddenly rounded on the old thatcher. “Be quiet, Cenn! Stop acting like a black-veiled Aiel!” The skinny man froze on his toes in astonishment as Bran stamped his way to the back of the inn and slammed the door behind him.

The Council members glanced at Cenn, then moved off in their separate directions. All but Haral Weyland, who accompanied the stony-visaged thatcher, talking quietly. The blacksmith was the only one who could ever get Cenn to see reason. Privately, Rand agreed with Bran, Cenn should not have spoken so rudely of Nynaeve, even if Nynaeve herself was somewhat of a stranger to politeness.

Rand went to meet his father, and his friends trailed after him. “I’ve never seen Master al’Caar so mad,” was the first thing Rand said.

“The Council and the Wisdom seldom agree,” Tam said, “and they agreed less than usual today. That’s all.”

“What about the false Dragon?” Mat asked, and Perrin added eager murmurs. “What about the Aes Sedai?”

Tam shook his head slowly. “Master Fain knew little more than he had already told. At least, little of interest to us. Battles won or lost. Cities taken and retaken. All in Ghealdan, thank the Light. It hasn’t spread, or had not the last Master Fain knew.”

“Battles interest me,” Mat said, and Perrin added, “What did he say about them?”

“Battles don’t interest me, Matrim,” Tam said. "But I’m sure he will be glad to tell you all about them later. What does interest me is that we shouldn’t have to worry about them here, as far as the Council and the Circle can tell. We can see no reason for Aes Sedai to come here on their way south. And as for the return journey, they aren’t likely to want to cross the Forest of Shadows and swim the White River.”

Rand and the others chuckled at the idea. There were three reasons why no-one came into the Theren except from the north, by way of Taren Ferry. The Mountains of Mist, in the west, were the first, of course, and the Mire blocked the east just as effectively. To the south was the White River, which got its name from the way rocks and boulders churned its swift waters to froth. And beyond the White lay the Forest of Shadows. Few Theren folk had ever crossed the White, and fewer still returned if they did. It was generally agreed, though, that the Forest of Shadows stretched south for a hundred miles or more without a road or a village, but with plenty of wolves and bears.

“So that’s an end to it for us,” Mat said. He sounded at least a little disappointed.

“Not quite,” Tam said. “Day after tomorrow we will send men to Deven Ride and Watch Hill, and Taren Ferry, too, to arrange for a watch to be kept. Riders along the White and the Taren, both, and patrols between. It should be done today, but only the Mayor agrees with me. The rest can’t see asking anyone to spend Bel Tine off riding across the Theren.”

“But I thought you said we didn’t have to worry,” Perrin said, and Tam shook his head.

“I said should not, boy, not did not. I’ve seen men die because they were sure that what should not happen, would not. Besides, the fighting will stir up all sorts of people. Most will just be trying to find safety, but others will be looking for a way to profit from the confusion. We’ll offer any of the first a helping hand, but we must be ready to send the second type on their way.”

Abruptly Mat spoke up. “Can we be part of it? I want to, anyway. You know I can ride as well as anyone in the village.”

“You want a few weeks of cold, boredom, and sleeping rough?” Tam chuckled. "Likely that’s all there will be to it. I hope that’s all. We’re well out of the way even for refugees. But you can speak to Mistress al’Vere if your mind is made up. Still, that’s a worry for later. Right now, Rand, it’s time for us to be getting back to the farm,” he announced.

Rand blinked in surprise. “I thought we were staying in town for Winternight.”

“Things need seeing to at the farm, and I need you with me. We are going now,” his father replied in a tone that brooked no argument. In a softer voice he added, “We’ll be back tomorrow in plenty of time for you to speak to the Mayor. Say your goodbyes, then meet me in the stable.”

“Are you going to join Rand and me on the watch?” Mat asked Perrin as Tam left. “I’ll bet there’s nothing like this ever happened in the Theren before. Why, if we get up to the Taren, we might even see soldiers, or who knows what. Even Tinkers.”

“I expect I will,” Perrin said slowly, “If Master Weyland doesn’t need me, that is.”

Rand sighed in disappointment; he had been enjoying their visit, it was a pity it had to end early. “Well, I’d best be getting home then. Give my regrets to the others. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Followed by their goodbyes, he trotted around to the stableyard where the high-wheeled cart stood propped on its shafts.

Tam stood in the rear of the stable, holding Bela by a lead rope and speaking quietly to Hu and Tad. Before Rand had taken two steps into the stable his father nodded to the stablemen and brought Bela out, wordlessly gathering up Rand as he went.

They harnessed the shaggy mare in silence. Tam appeared so deep in thought that Rand held his tongue.

As the cart lurched into motion, Rand took his bow and quiver from the back, awkwardly belting the quiver at his waist as he half trotted alongside. When they reached the last row of houses in the village, he nocked an arrow, carrying it half raised and partly drawn. There was nothing to see except mostly leafless trees, but his shoulders tightened. The black rider could be on them before either of them knew it. There might not be time to draw the bow if he was not already halfway to it.

He knew he could not keep up the tension on the bowstring for long. He had made the bow himself, and Tam was one of the few others in the district who could even draw it all the way to the cheek. He cast around for something to take his mind off thinking about the dark rider.

“Did anyone besides Perrin see this strange rider?” Tam asked.

“Mat did, but—” Rand blinked, then stared across Bela’s back at his father. “You believe me? I have to go back. I have to tell them.” Tam’s shout halted him as he turned to run back to the village.

“Hold, lad, hold! Do you think I waited this long to speak for no reason?”

Reluctantly Rand kept on beside the cart, still creaking along behind patient Bela. “What made you change your mind? Why can’t I tell the others?”

“They’ll know soon enough. At least, Perrin will. Mat, I’m not sure of. Word must be gotten to the farms as best it can, but in another hour there won’t be anyone in Emond’s Field above sixteen, those who can be responsible about it, at least, who doesn’t know a stranger is skulking around and likely not the sort you would invite to Festival. The winter has been bad enough without this to scare the young ones. He could be just a refugee from the troubles in Ghealdan, or more likely a thief who thinks the pickings will be easier here than in Baerlon or Taren Ferry. Even so, no-one around here has so much they can afford to have it stolen. If the man is trying to escape the war … well, that’s still no excuse for scaring people. Once the watch is mounted, it should either find him or frighten him off.”

“I hope it frightens him off. But why do you believe me now, when you didn’t this morning?”

“I had to believe my own eyes then, lad, and I saw nothing.” Tam shook his grizzled head. “Only young men see this fellow, it seems. When Haral Weyland mentioned Perrin jumping at shadows, though, it all came out. Doral Thane’s oldest son saw him, too, and so did Saml Crawe’s boy, Bandry. Well, when four of you say you’ve seen a thing—and solid lads, all—we start thinking maybe it’s there whether we can see it or not. All except Cenn, of course. Anyway, that’s why we’re going home. With both of us away, this stranger could be up to any kind of mischief there.”

“I didn’t know about Ban or Lem,” Rand said. “But Anna said she and Master al’Tolan saw the rider, too.”

“Young men and Anna,” Tam muttered, “And all near the same age.” He frowned off into the distance, but before Rand could ask what was troubling him, he said, “Keep a sharp lookout lad.”

Rand settled down to do just that. He was surprised to realize that his step felt lighter. The knots were gone from his shoulders. He was still scared, but it was not so bad as it had been. Tam and he were just as alone on the Quarry Road as they had been that morning, but in some way he felt as if the entire village were with them. That others knew and believed made all the difference. There was nothing the black-cloaked horseman could do that the people of Emond’s Field could not handle together.


	4. A Beginning

CHAPTER 6: A Beginning

The sun was almost set by the time the cart reached the farmhouse. It was not a big house, not nearly so large as some of the sprawling farmhouses to the east, dwellings that had grown over the years to hold entire families. In the Theren that often included three or four generations under one roof, including aunts, uncles, cousins, and nephews. Tam and Rand were considered out of the ordinary as much for being two men living alone as for farming in the Westwood. Here most of the rooms were on one floor, a neat rectangle with no wings or additions. Two bedrooms and an attic storeroom fitted up under the steeply sloped thatch. If the whitewash was all but gone from the stout wooden walls after the winter storms, the house was still in a tidy state of repair, the thatch tightly mended and the doors and shutters well-hung and snug-fitting. Rand had helped keep it so, of course. Over the years he’d had cause to learn all the chores needed to keep a farm and a house in order, from tending the animals and fields, to mending the building, or cooking, sewing and cleaning. He attended to all his duties diligently and without complaint. Or at least none that he ever gave voice to.

House, barn, and stone sheep pen formed the points of a triangle around the farmyard, where a few chickens had ventured out to scratch at the cold ground. An open shearing shed and a stone dipping trough stood next to the sheep pen. Hard by the fields between the farmyard and the trees loomed the tall cone of a tight-walled curing shed. Few farmers in the Theren could make do without both wool and tabac to sell when the merchants came.

When Rand took a look in the stone pen, the heavy-horned herd ram looked back at him, but most of the black-faced flock remained placidly where they lay, or stood with their heads in the feed trough. Their coats were thick and curly, but it was still too cold for shearing.

“I don’t think the black-cloaked man came here,” Rand called to his father, who was walking slowly around the farmhouse, spear held at the ready, examining the ground intently. “The sheep wouldn’t be so settled if that one had been around.”

Tam nodded but did not stop. When he had made a complete circuit of the house, he did the same around the barn and the sheep pen, still studying the ground. He even checked the smokehouse and the curing shed. Drawing a bucket of water from the well, he filled a cupped hand, sniffed the water, and gingerly touched it with the tip of his tongue. Abruptly he barked a laugh, then drank it down in a quick gulp.

“I suppose he didn’t,” he told Rand, wiping his hand on his coat front. “All this about men and horses I can’t see or hear just makes me look crossways at everything.” He emptied the well water into another bucket and started for the house, the bucket in one hand and his spear in the other. “I’ll start some stew for supper. And as long as we’re here, we might as well get caught up on a few chores.”

Rand grimaced, regretting missing Winternight in Emond’s Field even more. But Tam was right. Around a farm the work never really got done; as soon as one thing was finished two more always needed doing. He hesitated about it, but kept his bow and quiver close at hand. If the dark rider did appear, he had no intention of facing him with nothing but a hoe.

First was stabling Bela. Once he had unharnessed her and put her into a stall in the barn next to their cow, he set his cloak aside and rubbed the mare down with handfuls of dry straw, then curried her with a pair of brushes. Climbing the narrow ladder to the loft, he pitched down hay for her feed. He fetched a scoopful of oats for her as well, though there was little enough left and might be no more for a long while unless the weather warmed soon. The cow had been milked that morning before first light, giving a quarter of her usual yield; she seemed to be drying up as the winter hung on.

Enough feed had been left to see the sheep for two days—they should have been in the pasture by now, but there was none worth calling it so—but he topped off their water. Whatever eggs had been laid needed to be gathered, too. There were only three. The hens seemed to be getting cleverer at hiding them.

He was taking a hoe to the vegetable garden behind the house when Tam came out and settled on a bench in front of the barn to mend harness, propping his spear beside him. It made Rand feel better about the bow lying on his cloak a pace from where he stood.

Few weeds had pushed above ground, but more weeds than anything else. The cabbages were stunted, barely a sprout of the beans or peas showed, and there was not a sign of a beet. Not everything had been planted, of course; only part, in hopes the cold might break in time to make a crop of some kind before the cellar was empty. It did not take long to finish hoeing, which would have suited him just fine in years past, but now he wondered what they would do if nothing came up this year. Not a pleasant thought. And there was still firewood to split.

It seemed to Rand like years since there had  _ not  _ been firewood to split. But complaining would not keep the house warm, so he fetched the axe, propped up bow and quiver beside the chopping block, and got to work. Pine for a quick, hot flame, and oak for long burning. Before long he was warm enough to put his coat and shirt aside. When the pile of split wood grew big enough, he stacked it against the side of the house, beside other stacks already there. Most reached all the way to the eaves.

Usually by this time of year the woodpiles were small and few, but not this year. Chop and stack, chop and stack, he lost himself in the rhythm of the axe and the motions of stacking wood. Tam’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to where he was, and for a moment he blinked in surprise, memories rushing back. Grey twilight had come on while he worked, and already it was fading quickly toward night. The full moon stood well above the treetops, shimmering pale and bulging as if about to fall on their heads. The wind had grown colder without his noticing, too, and tattered clouds scudded across the darkling sky.

“Let’s wash up, lad, and see about some supper. I’ve already carried in water for hot baths before sleep,” said Tam in his calm and confidant voice. It was the voice of inevitability, Rand often thought.

“Anything hot sounds good to me,” Rand said, snatching up his cloak and tossing it round his shoulders. He stifled a yawn, shivering as he gathered the rest of his things. “And sleep, too, for that.”

When Rand returned from the outhouse he found that the main room had a warm, cheerful feel to it. Tam had been extravagant with the candles, and a fire crackled in the big stone fireplace. A broad oaken table was the main feature of the room other than the fireplace, a table long enough to seat a dozen or more, though there had seldom been so many around it since Rand’s mother died. A few cabinets and chests, most of them skilfully made by Tam himself, lined the walls, and high-backed chairs stood around the table. The cushioned chair that Tam called his reading chair sat angled before the flames. Rand preferred to do his reading stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. The shelf of books by the door was not nearly as long as the one at the Winespring Inn, but books were hard to come by. Few peddlers carried more than a handful, and those had to be stretched out among everyone who wanted them.

If the room did not look quite so freshly scrubbed as most farm wives kept their homes—Tam’s pipe rack and  _ The Travels of Jain Farstrider  _ sat on the table, while another wood-bound book rested on the cushion of his reading chair; a bit of harness to be mended lay on the bench by the fireplace, and some shirts to be darned made a heap on a chair—if not quite so spotless, it was still clean and neat enough, with a lived-in look that was almost as warming and comforting as the fire. Here, it was possible to forget the chill beyond the walls. There was no false Dragon here. No wars or Aes Sedai. No men in black cloaks. The aroma from the stewpot hanging over the fire permeated the room, and filled Rand with comfort.

His father stirred the stewpot with a long-handled wooden spoon, then took a taste. “A little while longer.”

Rand hurried to wash himself. A hot bath was what he wanted, to take away the sweat and soak the chill out, so he retrieved the big kettle from the back room, filled it up and set it near the fire. It took more than a dozen trips with the smaller kettle before the bath was half filled. By then the water was nearly ready.

Once Rand was done carrying, Tam rooted around in a cabinet and came up with a key as long as his hand. He twisted it in the big iron lock on the door. At Rand’s questioning look he said, “Best to be safe. Maybe I’m taking a fancy, or maybe the weather is blacking my mood, but ...” He sighed and bounced the key on his palm. “I’ll see to the back door,” he said, and disappeared toward the back of the house.

Rand could not remember either door ever being locked. No-one in the Theren locked doors. There was no need. Until now, at least. When Tam returned he slipped the key into the pocket of his trousers and bent to help Rand with the kettle. They donned heavy mitts and lifted on a silent count of three, long years of practice making words unnecessary. With careful, shuffling steps they approached the bathtub and then tipped the kettle just enough to let the water flow.

Once the bath was ready, Tam gestured to it with a callused hand. “All yours lad, I’ll finish dinner.”

Rand nodded, he usually bathed first at times like this. “Yes, father. I already ate at Emond’s Field, so I’ll wait a bit longer for supper. Don’t wait for me.”

Tam nodded his understanding and left the room. The sounds of spoon on pot and spoon on bowl drifted through as Rand stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped gingerly into the tub.

Rand eased himself down and sat in the warm water; sighed loudly as the heat drew tension out of his muscles, took a long moment to savour the feeling, then dunked his head. He liked the way water drove sound away when it covered his ears, many a time he had floated in the ponds of the Waterwood east of Emond’s Field relishing the peaceful silence. But there was no time for that here, the water wouldn’t stay warm long. He resurfaced, soaped up his hair and set about giving himself a good scrubbing.

From overhead, from Tam’s bedroom, came a scraping, as of something being dragged across the floor. Rand frowned. Unless Tam had suddenly decided to move the furniture around, he could only be pulling out the old chest he kept under his bed. Another thing that had never been done in Rand’s memory.

Once Rand was clean, he clambered from the tub, dried himself as best he could with the small towel and belted on his undyed woollen bathrobe before padding into the main room and the welcome fire that awaited him.

Once there however, Rand found himself staring in surprise. A thick belt slanted around Tam’s waist, and from the belt hung a sword, with a bronze heron on the black scabbard and another on the long hilt. The only men Rand had ever seen wearing swords were the merchants’ guards. And Lan, of course. That his father might own one had never even occurred to him. Except for the herons, the sword looked a good deal like Lan’s.

“Where did that come from?” he blurted. "Did you get it from a peddler? How much did it cost?”

Slowly Tam drew the weapon; firelight played along the gleaming length. It was nothing at all like the plain, rough blades Rand had seen in the hands of merchants’ guards. No gems or gold adorned it, but it seemed grand to him, nonetheless. The blade, very slightly curved and sharp on only one edge, bore another heron etched into the steel. Short quillons, worked to look like braid, flanked the hilt. It seemed almost fragile compared with the swords of the merchants’ guards; most of those were double-edged, and thick enough to chop down a tree.

“I got it a long time ago,” Tam said, “a long way from here. And I paid entirely too much; two coppers is too much for one of these. Your mother didn’t approve, but she was always wiser than I. I was young then, and it seemed worth the price at the time. Kari always wanted me to get rid of it, and more than once I’ve thought she was right, that I should just give it away.”

Reflected fire made the blade seem aflame. Rand started. He had often daydreamed about owning a sword. “Give it away? How could you give a sword like that away?”

Tam snorted. “Not much use in herding sheep, now is it? Can’t plough a field or harvest a crop with it.” For a long minute he stared at the sword as if wondering what he was doing with such a thing. At last he let out a heavy sigh. “But if I am not just taken by a black fancy, if our luck runs sour, maybe in the next few days we’ll be glad I tucked it in that old chest, instead.” He slid the sword smoothly back into its sheath and wiped his hand on his shirt with a grimace.

“Maybe so,” Rand whispered. He padded over to stand by the fireplace, wanting to know everything. Why would Tam have bought a sword? He could not imagine. And where had Tam come by it? How far away? No-one ever left the Theren; or very few, at least. He had always known his father had gone outside once, he had met Rand’s mother there, but why would he need a sword, how long had he been gone?

He must have looked nervous. “We’ll be fine lad, don’t worry. We’ve always been fine here, we have everything a man could need.” Tam was looking at him with that stolid, implacable stare.

Rand knew his meaning, of course. He let out an excited breath and shrugged the bathrobe off his shoulders, catching it at his waist, there in the flickering light of the hearth fire. Tam looked at him in silent admiration. He gulped and bent to gently kiss his father. Tam sighed and placed a firm hand behind his son’s head, holding him in place as he kneaded the youth’s lips with his own.

Rand was pliant in Tam’s hands. He reflected on all the other times he had helped Tam with his needs. It had been more than two years now since he hadn’t needed to bend down to let Tam kiss him. Tam had laughed and complimented him on his growth the first time he’d found himself looking up into Rand’s eyes. It was even longer ago that Rand had come to understand the frustrated urges that beset his father, with no wife and just the two of them living here in these woods for the past decade. Rand had never sought Tam’s help with his own urges though, somehow the thought of mounting his father like that just seemed wrong, even if Tam would have let him. He had been happy enough to help ease Tam’s frustrations though, except perhaps for the first time, when he was seven. That had been painful, scary and confusing.

Tam had been very drunk that night, on the second year of the anniversary of Kari’s death. When Rand woke to the feel of somebody sitting down at the side of his bed he had not been worried though. Tam loved him and he loved Tam; they were the only family each other had. Tam had caressed Rand’s red hair and wept silently, so he had sat up in the bed and put his arms around his father. Tam had hugged him back and sobbed, “Kari, I love you.”

After a while he had quietened and Rand had dried his runny nose and wet eyes on his father’s shirt. He had loved her, too, but she was gone and she would never come back, everyone had said so. Rand had been clad only in his white nightshirt and smallclothes. Tam had put his hands on his boy’s bottom as he held Rand to him. Then his fingers had started moving in a way that made Rand nervous. Tam had grasped Rand’s smallclothes on either side and pulled them down Rand’s skinny legs. “Father?” Rand had queried, in a small voice, confused but unresisting. He had pulled his face back from Tam’s chest as he said so and looked at him with wide blue-grey eyes. Tam had grimaced as though in pain and thrust his lips upon the red-haired boy’s. He had followed Rand’s lips all the way back to Rand’s bed, where he laid his son down and caressed him all over. He had pulled the shorts over Rand’s small feet and left him laying there with his little boy’s cock curled up and exposed, kissing his lips ardently all the while.

Rand wasn’t eight anymore, but when Tam broke their kiss and gently pulled Rand’s hand away from the bathrobe, he made no effort to resist. The wool puddled upon the floor and he stood tall and naked before his father for a long moment. Then he turned and slipped to his hands and knees on the rug before their fireplace and offered himself up for Tam’s pleasure.

Behind him, he heard Tam fumbling with his clothes. Rand’s heart was beating as fast as it had the first time. Rand had been scared, very scared, by the pained look in Tam’s eyes back then. So as his father kissed him the way he remembered seeing him kiss his mother he had wondered what he should do. Kari had kissed him back and made him happy; Rand, child that he was, had decided to do the same. He had set his hands timidly to Tam’s bristly face and moved his soft lips against the man’s firmer ones. Tam’s breath had tasted funny, not disgusting but not normal either. It was the ale, he supposed. Tam had run his fingers through Rand’s hair, “I always loved your hair,” he had whispered. “Such a lovely colour.”

Fingers trailed through Rand’s red hair now and he looked back to find his father kneeling behind him. He had unbuttoned his shirt but not put it aside; the hair on his chest had more grey than black in it now but the muscles beneath were still strong. Tam had kept his mysterious sword belted about him, twisting it aside so the blade hung behind him and the long hilt stuck out to his left. It made him seem suddenly strange again to Rand, reminded him of how strange the first time had been. He had undone his trousers just enough to set his cock free, dark and thick, it pointed towards Rand hungrily.

It had seemed much bigger when Rand was young. When Tam had been unable to contain his urges any longer he had gotten up from his boy’s bed and unlaced his breeches. Rand had gaped at the size of Tam’s willy, it was massive to Rand’s young eyes, the size of Tam’s hand and wrist both. Tam had dragged his breeches down and his shirt over his head and cast them hastily aside, he had quickly done the same with Rand’s nightshirt and knelt on Rand’s bed with his willy sticking out, looking all strangely stiff. Rand’s own cock was longer and thicker than Tam’s he knew now, but back then it had seemed huge.

Rand had not been truly afraid except when Tam had first kissed him. When Tam had stopped pushing him down, and started brushing him with his hands instead it had felt nice. His father’s hands were strong and leathery and held only gentleness for good boys. Gently Tam had put those hands on his son’s slim hips and lifted them up off the bed, guided Rand to lay on his belly and moved up behind him, breathing like a stud horse. Rand had been bewildered by that, even before he felt his father put his hands on the cheeks of Rand’s soft bottom and push them away from each other; and then something warm and wet and firm had come to rest against the hole of his bum and set Rand to trembling.

Tam’s callused yet gentle hands caressed Rand’s now much firmer buttocks. “On your side there lad,” he murmured as he guided his son to lay down by the hearthfire. Rand did so compliantly, resting his head on one arm and watching his father kneel above him as the flickering firelight caressed them both. Tam took hold of one of Rand’s long and muscular legs and held it up against his hairy chest as he positioned himself before Rand’s opening. “Rand,” he moaned as he pushed himself home. Rand let out a long sigh as he felt the familiar sensation of his father’s cock filling his hole.

It had been Kari’s name Tam had cried through gritted teeth, when he first thrust into Rand. Taken by surprise, the boy had squealed his pain and confusion. Tam had pushed his willy in as far as he could and buried his fingers in Rand’s red hair. Then he had started riding Rand just like he rode a horse. He had bucked his hips and pulled his willy out of Rand’s hole, then bunched his strong belly and pushed it back in again. Tam’s hairy body had felt like a warm wall pressed against Rand’s slim back and his arms were strong and inescapable and sheltering. It had hurt Rand, but Tam sighed in relief as he rode him so Rand had tried to stifle his cries as much as he could. Rand loved his father, as he had loved his mother, and with her gone they had only each other. Tam needed his help. The thought had made the boy feel better. Warm. Needed. Loved. Rand began to squirm, hoping to get into a more comfortable position as the man made him his catamite. His squirming made Tam groan in pleasure. So he had squirmed some more.

“That’s my boy,” groaned Tam as he began to ride Rand faster, staring into Rand’s eyes all the while; grey eyes, like Kari’s had been. The firelight was hot on his skin and Tam’s cock in his ass was hotter still. Rand rolled his hips, the better to speed his father’s release.

The first time had gone quicker. Tam had rested his head on his son’s pillow as he thrust urgently into the boy’s painfully tight bottom. Rand had made little gasping noises as Tam rode him and watched his father’s face; soon Tam’s teeth gritted and his arms clasped Rand to him roughly, he roared almost angrily and pushed his manhood savagely up Rand’s smooth, hairless bum. Rand had cried out in alarm, more from the noise than the now almost familiar feeling, then felt something wet moving inside him. Tam had let out a shuddering breath and collapsed on top of Rand, sucking in breath.

“Father,” he asked softly now as Tam rode him at a steady pace. “How long did you live in the outside?”

“Over twenty years, Rand,” Tam panted, still thrusting. “Twenty long years.”

“Did you hate it?”

Tam blinked down at him. “There were some hard times, some ugly sights, but I wouldn’t trade them away if I could. They brought me Kari. And you.” With that he squeezed his eyes shut and started fucking Rand with desperate, and familiar, abandon. Rand knew what was coming; he squeezed Tam’s cock within him and soon felt his father’s milk shoot forth. After the first few spurts, Tam fell back on his heels, breathing heavily and letting Rand’s leg fall free. Rand smiled, curled up slightly and turned his gaze to the flames.

It would take Tam a bit to recover himself, Rand knew. The first time he had lain still for so long that Rand had found himself short of breath.

“Father, I can’t breathe,” he had gasped. Tam had snorted as though he had just been woken abruptly from sleep and got up off Rand’s back. His angry manhood plopped out of Rand’s no-longer virgin bottom as he did so and the older man had lowered his head in grief.

“Rand, lad?” his father had asked huskily. “Please don’t hate me.”

Rand had been shocked. Why would he hate Tam? It defied possibility. “I don’t hate you father,” he had said, his voice sounding higher than usual for some reason. “I love you. And I miss mom, too.” At the last he had started crying and Tam had wrapped his strong arms around him.

“I miss her, too,” Tam had sighed sadly. “You remind me of her, you know?” He had sounded almost surprised by that, but Rand already knew he looked more like his mother than Tam. “You’re nearly as pretty as she was, Light save me.” Tam had cradled Rand in his arms and rocked him to sleep that night, and on many nights since.

_ But not tonight _ , Rand thought. Unnerving as he had found the presence of that black-cloaked rider, he was no longer a little boy to go running to his father’s bed for comfort. So when Tam’s cock slipped out of Rand’s wet hole, he reached for the discarded bathrobe and wiped himself clean. It would need washing anyway, and Rand was fully dried now. He rose and padded naked across the room to the fresh clothes that Tam had thoughtfully brought down for him and began to get dressed.

Tam had grown sombre now that his itch was scratched. He often did, even after all these years. He stuffed his heavy cock back into his trousers and began to button up his shirt. When he noticed Rand watching him, he met his son’s grey eyes with his sad brown ones and said, “Thank you. For everything.”

Rand shrugged lightly. “No, thank you. Always.”

As he began to button his own shirt, a heavy thump at the door rattled the lock. All thoughts of Tam’s swords flew away.   
  



	5. Suspicious Arrangement

CHAPTER 11: Suspicious Arrangement

“Don’t wake him, now,” the Mayor said, as Master al’Caar shut the door behind his wife and himself. The cloth-covered tray she carried gave off delicious, warm smells. She set it on the chest against the wall, then firmly moved Rand away from the bed.

“Mistress Moiraine told me what he needs,” she said softly, “and it does not include you falling on top of him from exhaustion.” She smiled slightly then, and memory seemed to flare in her eyes. She glanced away from Rand. “I’ve brought you a bite to eat. Don’t let it get cold, now.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that,” Bran said peevishly. “Moiraine Sedai is proper. She might get mad. We don’t want trouble with Aes Sedai.”

Marin gave him a pat on the cheek. “No we don’t, and there won’t be any. She and I had a long talk. She knows we are a proper and decent folk, with a healthy respect for tradition. Now, the two of you keep out of my way.” With a fond smile for her husband, she turned to the bed where she began arranging Tam’s pillows and blankets.

Master al’Caar gave Rand a frustrated look. “She’s an Aes Sedai. Half the women in the village act as if she rules the Theren now, and the rest as if she were a Trolloc. Not a one of them seems to realize you have to be careful around Aes Sedai. The men may keep looking at her sideways, but at least they aren’t doing anything that might provoke her.”

Careful, Rand thought. It was not too late to start being careful. “Master al’Caar,” he said slowly, “do you know how many farms were attacked?”

“Only two that I’ve heard of so far, your place and the Calders’.” He paused, frowning, then shrugged. “It doesn’t seem enough, with what happened here. I should be glad of it, but ... Well, we’ll probably hear of more before the day is out.”

Rand sighed. “Here in the village, did they ... I mean, was there anything to show what they were after?”

“After, boy? I don’t know that they were after anything, except maybe killing us all. It was just the way I said. The dogs barking, and Moiraine Sedai and Lan running through the streets, then somebody shouted that Mistress Crawe’s house was on fire. Odd that; it’s nearly in the middle of the village. Anyway, the next thing the Trollocs were all among us. No, I don’t think they were  _ after  _ anything.” He gave an abrupt bark of a laugh, and cut it short with a wary look at his wife. She did not look around from Tam. “To tell the truth,” he went on more quietly, “they seemed almost as confused as we were. I doubt they expected to find an Aes Sedai here, or a Warder.”

“I suppose not,” Rand said, grimacing. If Moiraine had told the truth about that, she had probably told the truth about the rest, too.

“You need sleep, lad,” Master al’Caar said.

“Yes, you do,” Marin added. “You’re almost falling down where you stand.” Rand blinked at her in surprise. He had not even realized she had left his father. He did need sleep; just the thought set off a yawn.

“You can take the bed in the next room,” the Mayor said. “There’s already a fire laid.”

Rand looked at his father; Tam was still deep in sleep, and that made him yawn again. “I’d rather stay in here, if you don’t mind. For when he wakes up.”

Mistress al’Vere hesitated only a moment before nodding. “If you must stay, curl up next to the fire. And drink a little of that beef broth before you doze off.”

“I will,” Rand said. He would have agreed to anything if they let him stay just a little longer. “And I won’t wake him.”

“See that you do not,” Mistress al’Vere told him firmly, but not in an unkindly way. “I’ll bring you up a pillow and some blankets.”

When they were gone, Rand dragged Moiraine’s chair around, discarded his coat and boots, and sat by Tam’s beside.  _ This might be the last night I ever sleep in the Theren _ , he thought. He was tired, but his mind raced. There were so many people he would miss. Dav and Elam. Tod and Tief. Anna, Imoen. The al’Vere sisters, the Cauthons, the Aybaras. Even Cenn Buie. And Nynaeve. Marin ... and Tam most of all.

Rand was so busy staring morosely at nothing that he didn’t notice the Mayor’s return until she put her hand on his shoulder. He started, which brought a wan smile to her lips. She was still clad in her loose nightgown; with all that had happened and all that needed doing, she must not have found the time to get dressed. She gave his shoulder a light pat then went to set the bundled bedding down atop Tam’s legs.

“Be careful not to wake him,” Rand dared to caution her.

“I don’t think I could if I tried. Moiraine Sedai said he will sleep like a stone for the rest of the day and night. Being Healed with the One Power has that effect.” She did not look at Rand as she added, “Moiraine Sedai also said that the less men knew of the One Power’s workings the better for all. So be sure not to say anything to Master al’Caar.”

Rand frowned slightly. Moiraine had told him quite a bit about the Power earlier, and the Shadow, too. She had seemed to be making a point of telling him, now that he thought about it. For that matter, why would the Mayor tell Rand about Tam, but keep it from Bran ...

Marin still refused to look at him. As short as Egwene, and as slender, too—though there was a good forty years of age difference between them—she stood there in her oversized robe looking more strained and tense than he had even seen her look.

“I know how to keep a secret, if it’s a secret worth keeping,” Rand said softly. “You know that.”

A small smile curved her lips, and woke the fine lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. “I do.”

The Mayor strode past Rand to the guest chamber door of her inn, lifted the latch ... and locked it with a click than rang oddly loud in Rand’s ears.

Marin came and sat in Rand’s lap without preamble. His manhood, already stiff, poked against her thigh and brought a pleased smile to her lips. He wrapped his arms around her slight body and kissed her hungrily, and within heartbeats she was kissing him back, perhaps more ardently than any time before.

It had been almost a year since the last time, the last night of Bel Tine. Rand had danced with a dozen or more girls, including three of the al’Vere sisters, but it had been Marin who visited his bedroom in the hour before dawn. For the last time, she had sworn afterwards. There had been several other last times before that. And the original last time, when he was fourteen, the first time he had ever known a woman’s body. He almost cringed to remember how nervous and awkward he had been back then, but Marin hadn’t minded. She had seemed to enjoy his eagerness, and his youth. She always did.

Marin was impatient and eager herself this time, she pulled Rand’s shirt over his head and ran her hands across the hard, hairless muscles of his chest. Her breath quickened, even more so when he hiked up her nightgown to caress her soft naked thighs. He kissed her, and soon she was exploring his mouth with her tongue.

She rose briefly from his lap, the better to yank down her loose white underwear. Her dirty feet were tangled briefly as she freed her slim legs and Rand got a good glimpse of the thick thatch of hair that crowned her sex. Marin’s braid was still a dark brown, if liberally streaked with grey, but down below the grey had taken over almost entirely. He wondered if she would want him to kiss her there and explore her with his tongue, the way she had taught him. He would be glad to.

Rand yanked down his own trousers as eagerly, freeing his engorged manhood. He shot a guilty look towards Tam, half fearing his father would rise up from his sickbed in wrath, but Tam still slept like the dead.  _ The near dead, only that, thank the Light _ .

Marin wasted no time worrying about Tam. Or with words. Instead she moved swiftly to stand over the chair where Rand still sat, took hold of his shaft in her soft, motherly hands, and impaled herself upon his hard young cock in one smooth motion.

A whimper escaped Rand’s lips when her heat enveloped him, despite his best efforts to be quiet.

“Shush now,” Marin whispered as she clutched at his shoulders. “We can’t let anyone hear.” It was a familiar rebuke. Her big, brown eyes implored him; the tension he had seen in them earlier melting slightly.

It melted further when he began to move within her, breathing through his nose, teeth clenched tight. The thought that he could ease her burdens drove Rand’s ardour almost as much as the realisation that this time really would be the last time. He grasped her rounded buttocks, the only part of her that ever seemed to retain weight, and thrust upwards.

Marin soon matched his thrusts with her own. Her mouth hung open but no sound escaped save that of her sharp breaths.

As they fucked, fast and hard, Rand’s thoughts slid inescapably to Egwene. He doubted Marin knew about what her youngest daughter had gotten up to in that barn. Egwene had been much louder than her mother. The hair on her sex was no more than a light down. Her breasts were firmer than the soft mounds beneath Marin’s nightgown, hidden from his sight but not his memory. And it had been a tighter fit within her. Yet they were equally beautiful in Rand’s eyes. And Marin’s company was nowhere near as aggravating as Egwene’s could so often be.  _ If I had to choose, I’d choose Marin _ .

Not that he would ever have that choice, of course. She was a married woman, and his betrothal to Egwene wouldn’t survive his leaving with the Aes Sedai. Not to mention that Egwene was planning to move north, and didn’t seem to care that the betrothal was ending.

In truth, Rand still had no idea how it was that he and Egwene had come to be promised to one another in the first place. He had been fifteen, almost sixteen, when Tam sat him down and explained that he should be especially nice to Egwene from now on, though it would be some time before Rand came to understand what exactly that meant for their future. Egwene had been almost fourteen at the time. Fourteen ...

Rand opened his eyes. Marin’s were still squeezed shut, frown lines showing on her brow as she rode him hard. Her hands roved over the planes of his face, brushed through his hair. He was young enough to be her grandson, but he held her tightly to his chest as he wondered what it might have been like to come and live in the Winespring Inn with Egwene and her family ...

The Mayor stiffened suddenly in Rand’s arms, was still for a long moment, then let out a long, hissing breath as she melted against him.

All the tension seemed to drain out of her, and Rand was glad to see it go. He kissed her flushed cheek, the flesh soft beneath his lips. And when he kissed her mouth he felt her smile.

“There’s my handsome boy,” she whispered, cupping his cheeks in her gentle hands and smiled fondly. “It’s been a terrible night. Terrible. But the worst is past us now. We Theren folk are a stubborn lot, and not easily broken. We’ll rebuild what those monsters destroyed, never you fear.”

Rand did not doubt that. But he would not be there to see it. He was about to tell her what Moiraine had told him, despite the Aes Sedai’s cautions towards secrecy, when Marin began moving atop him once more.

“Life goes on,” she continued. “Here, I’ll show you.” So saying, she started rubbing herself along Rand’s cock.

Her movements were fast and shallow and drove all thought from Rand’s mind. For a blessed time, nothing existed in the world except the Mayor’s hot, wet pussy, jerking frantically along his cock.

Rand stood no chance against such an onslaught. His climax hit him hard and fast and he pressed his face against her thin shoulder, teeth clenched against any treacherous cries that might try to escape as he clutched the cheeks of her bottom roughly in his hands. He felt as though his fears and doubts were flowing out of him along with his cream, leaving behind only a welcome sense of peace. Marin petted his hair gently as she let him come inside her, murmuring comforting, motherly words.

They held each other for a time, but all too soon Marin rose from Rand’s lap. She gave a sigh of satisfaction as his softening manhood slid out of her. “You’ll need to arrange your own bedding, dear. If I linger any longer people will start to wonder what’s keeping me,” she said, as she bent to pull her underwear back on. He pulled up his trousers and tucked himself away again.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” the Mayor demanded when she reached the still-locked door.

Rand raised an eyebrow at her in what he hoped was an arch fashion. “Of course I won’t. I never have.”

Marin bit her lip girlishly. “I shouldn’t have done this. I really shouldn’t. It’s at least partially your fault for being such a pretty boy, you know.” She gave a low sigh. “But it can never happen again, I’m afraid.”

Rand grinned at the familiar refrain. But his grin faded as he watched her slender form slink guiltily from the bedroom.  _ She’s right though. This time really was the last time _ . With a sad smile he set about arranging his bed for his last night in the Theren.


	6. Leavetaking

CHAPTER 13: Leavetaking

A single lantern, its shutters half closed, hung from a stall post, casting a dim light. Deep shadows swallowed most of the stalls. As Rand came through the doors from the stableyard, hard on the heels of Mat and the Warder, Perrin leaped up in a rustle of straw from where he had been sitting with his back against a stall door. A heavy cloak swathed him, and a longbow was strapped to his back.

Lan barely paused to demand, “Did you look the way I told you, blacksmith?”

“I looked,” Perrin replied. “There’s nobody here but us. Why would anybody hide—”

“Care and a long life go together, blacksmith.” The Warder ran a quick eye around the shadowed stable and the deeper shadows of the hayloft above, then shook his head. “No time,” he muttered, half to himself. “Hurry, she says.”

As if to suit his words, he strode quickly to where the five horses stood tethered, bridled and saddled at the back of the pool of light. Two were the black stallion and white mare that Rand had seen before. The others, if not quite so tall or so sleek, certainly appeared to be among the best the Theren had to offer. With hasty care Lan began examining cinches and girth straps, and the leather ties that held saddlebags, water-skins, and blanketrolls behind the saddles.

Rand exchanged shaky smiles with his friends, trying hard to look as if he really was eager to be off.

For the first time Mat noticed the sword at Rand’s waist, and pointed to it. “You becoming a Warder?” He laughed, then swallowed it with a quick glance at Lan. The Warder apparently took no notice. “Or at least a merchant’s guard,” Mat went on with a grin that seemed only a little forced. He hefted his bow. “An honest man’s weapon isn’t good enough for him.”

Rand thought about flourishing the sword, but Lan being there stopped him. The Warder was not even looking in his direction, but he was sure the man was aware of everything that went on around him. Instead he said with exaggerated casualness, “It might be useful,” as if wearing a sword were nothing out of the ordinary. “And the Trollocs snapped my longbow. I’d make a new one if there was time, but ...”

Perrin moved, trying to hide something under his cloak. Rand glimpsed a wide leather belt encircling the apprentice blacksmith’s waist, with the handle of an axe thrust through a loop on the belt.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

“Merchant’s guard, indeed,” Mat hooted.

The shaggy-haired youth gave Mat a forbidding frown, then sighed heavily and tossed back his cloak to uncover the axe. It was no common woodsman’s tool. A broad half-moon blade on one side of the head and a curved spike on the other made it every bit as strange for the Theren as Rand’s sword. Perrin’s hand rested on it with a sense of familiarity, though.

“Master Weyland made it about two years ago, for a wool-buyer’s guard. But when it was done the fellow wouldn’t pay what he had agreed, and Master Weyland would not take less. He gave it to me when”—he cleared his throat, then shot Rand the same warning frown he’d given Mat—“when he found me practicing with it. He said I might as well have it since he couldn’t make anything useful from it.”

“Practicing,” Mat snickered, but held up his hands soothingly when Perrin raised his head, heavy jaw set in anger. “As you say. It’s just as well one of us knows how to use a real weapon.”

“That bow is a real weapon,” Lan said suddenly. He propped an arm across the saddle of his tall black and regarded them gravely. “So are the slings I’ve seen you village boys with. That you’ve never used them for anything but hunting rabbits or chasing a wolf away from the sheep doesn’t change that. Anything can be a weapon, if the man or woman who holds it has the nerve and will to make it so. Trollocs aside, you had better have that clear in your minds before we leave Emond’s Field, if you want to reach Tar Valon alive.”

His face and voice, cold as death and hard as a rough-hewn gravestone, stifled their smiles and their tongues. Perrin grimaced and pulled his cloak back over the axe. Mat stared at his feet and stirred the straw on the stable floor with his toe. The Warder grunted and went back to his checking, and the silence lengthened.

“It isn’t much like the stories,” Mat said, finally.

“I don’t know,” Perrin said sourly. “Trollocs, a Warder, an Aes Sedai. What more could you ask?”

“Aes Sedai,” Mat whispered, sounding as if he were suddenly cold.

“Did you both hear about Lem and Bandry?” Rand asked quietly. They nodded, suddenly avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Do you believe her, Rand?” Perrin asked. “I mean, what would Trollocs want with us?”

As one, they glanced at the Warder. Lan appeared absorbed in the white mare’s saddle girth, but the three of them moved back toward the stable door, away from Lan. Even so, they huddled together and spoke softly.

Rand shook his head. “I don’t know, but she had it right about mine and the Calders’ farms being the only ones attacked. And they torched Bandry and Lem’s houses first, even though they were in the middle of town. Mistress Luhhan’s house and the forge went up next, along with your places. I asked Bran al’Caar.” Suddenly he realized they were both staring at him.

“You asked old al’Caar?” Mat said incredulously. “She said not to tell anybody.”

“I didn’t tell him why I was asking,” Rand protested. “Do you mean you didn’t talk to anybody at all? You didn’t let anybody know you’re going?”

Perrin shrugged defensively. “Moiraine Sedai said not anybody.”

“We left notes,” Mat said. “For our families. They’ll find them in the morning. Rand, my mother thinks Tar Valon is the next thing to Shayol Ghul.” He gave a little laugh to show he did not share her opinion. It was not very convincing. “She’d try to lock me in the cellar if she believed I was even thinking of going there.”

“Moiraine is an Aes Sedai,” said Perrin, “She said not to tell anybody. If an Aes Sedai doesn’t know what to do about something like this, who does?”

“I don’t know.” Rand rubbed at his forehead.

A shadow shifted by the open doorway. Rand gave a start and opened his mouth to cry the alarm, but a familiar voice said, “Me neither, but it still sounds pretty crazy.”

He let out his indrawn breath in a long sigh, as she stepped into the light. “What are you doing here, Anna? I thought you’d be asleep.” She was fully dressed, in her usual boy’s clothes, and had her bow in hand. Everyone was going armed tonight, it seemed.

Lan’s sword had come half out of its sheath; when he saw who it was he shoved the blade back, his eyes suddenly flat.

Anna didn’t meet the Warder’s stare, but her mouth took on a stubborn set. “With all that ruckus outside? No-one’s asleep anymore. Last I saw, the Mayor and her daughters were discussing exactly how badly those men were going to regret joining that mob, once the Women’s Circle gathers. I wondered where you’d got to.”

Rand grimaced. “How much did you hear?”

“That the Aes Sedai says the Trollocs are hunting for young men from the Theren. And that you three need to run off in the night, telling none of your families about it, or they will kill everyone.” Anna raised an eyebrow. “Hell of a tale that. If you believe it.”

“You should,” said Lan. His voice was cold enough to make Rand shiver. The Warder and the Aes Sedai hadn’t wanted anyone to know their plans, and Rand was suddenly afraid for Anna.

Perrin spoke up earnestly. “If there’s any chance its true, then we have no choice but to leave.”

Rand nodded. “If we didn’t, and more people got hurt, it would be our fault as much as the Trollocs’. If they really came here hunting us, then all of this is our fault.”

Mat squawked in objection, and Anna agreed. She scowled at Rand fiercely. “Don’t be a woolhead. The Trollocs hurt those people. They hurt ... it was their fault and no-one else’s!” She dashed her tears away with the palm of her hand.

Rand put his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want anyone else to die,” he said quietly. “I’ll do whatever I must to prevent that.”

“So will I,” she whispered.

Moiraine appeared in the doorway. She was clothed in dark grey from head to foot, with a skirt divided for riding astride, and the serpent ring was the only gold she wore now. Rand eyed her walking staff; despite the flames he had seen, there was no sign of charring, or even soot. She looked sharply at the four youths. “We have a guest,” she said in a cool voice, “sadly the hour grows late and we have private matters to discuss. You should go back to bed, child.”

Anna crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I’m not a child, Moiraine Sedai. And whatever the creatures that killed my father want is something I don’t intend to let them have. Not Rand or Perrin. Or even Mat.”

“Thanks,” Mat muttered.

Anna continued as if she hadn’t heard. “If the Trollocs want my friends, they’ll have to get past me first. I’m coming, too.”

Perrin was aghast. “No, Anna! It’s too dangerous.”

Rand agreed with him, but he knew the stubborn look on Anna’s face too well to argue. It was the same look she’d worn when she decided the cracked branch of that old yew could be safely walked on, or when she decided that only the outside of the pheasant was charred. Pleas to common sense were wasted when she got that look.

Moiraine weighed Anna with her eyes. Whatever she saw, her face gave no sign. “Lan?”

“The horses are ready,” the Warder said, “and we have enough provisions to reach Baerlon with some to spare. We can leave at any time. I suggest now.”

“Not without me.” Egwene trotted into the stable, a shawl-wrapped bundle in her arms. Rand spun around and gaped at her, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Perrin and Mat began babbling to convince Moiraine they had not told Egwene about leaving. The Aes Sedai ignored them; she weighed Egwene much as she had Anna, tapping her lips thoughtfully with one finger. “Coincidence? I think not,” she said, speaking as if to herself.

The hood of Egwene’s dark brown cloak was pulled up, but not enough to hide the defiant way she faced Moiraine. “I have everything I need here. Including food. And I will not be left behind. I’ll probably never get another chance to see the world outside the Theren.”

“This isn’t a picnic trip into the Waterwood, Egwene,” Mat growled. He stepped back when she looked at him from under lowered brows.

“Thank you, Mat. I wouldn’t have known. Do you think you three are the only ones who want to see what’s outside? I’ve dreamed about it as long as you have, and I don’t intend to miss this chance.”

“How did you find out we were leaving?” Rand demanded. “Anyway, you can’t go with us. We aren’t leaving for the fun of it. The Trollocs are after us.” She gave him a tolerant look, and he flushed and stiffened indignantly.

“First,” she told him patiently, “I saw Mat creeping about, trying hard not to be noticed. Then I saw Perrin attempting to hide that absurd great axe under his cloak. I knew Lan had bought a horse and it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why he needed another. And if he could buy one, he could buy others. Putting that with Mat and Perrin sneaking about like bull calves pretending to be foxes ... well, I could see only one answer. I don’t know if I’m surprised or not to find you here, Rand, after all your talk about daydreams. But with Mat and Perrin involved, I suppose I should have known you would be in it, too. I didn’t expect you to leave at this forsaken hour though; if not for those fool men you might have gotten away without me.”

“I have to go, Egwene,” Rand said. “All of us do, or the Trollocs will come back.”

“The Trollocs!” Egwene laughed incredulously. “Rand, if you’ve decided to see some of the world, well and good, but please spare me any of your nonsensical tales.”

Anna’s lips twisted as though she had bitten into something sour. She and Egwene had never gotten along.

“It’s true,” Perrin said as Mat began, “The Trollocs—”

“Enough,” Moiraine said quietly, but it cut their talk as sharply as a knife. “Did anyone else notice all of this?” Her voice was soft, but Egwene swallowed and drew herself up before answering.

“After last night, all they can think about is rebuilding, that and what to do if it happens again. They couldn’t see anything else unless it was pushed under their noses. And I told no-one what I suspected. No-one.”

“Very well,” Moiraine said after a moment. “You may come with us. Both of you.”

A startled expression darted across Lan’s face. It was gone in an instant, leaving him outwardly calm, but furious words erupted from him. “No, Moiraine!”

“It is part of the Pattern, now, Lan.”

“It is ridiculous!” he retorted. “There’s no reason for these girls to come along, and every reason for them not to.”

“There is a reason for it,” Moiraine said calmly. “A part of the Pattern, Lan.” The Warder’s stony face showed nothing, but he nodded slowly.

“But, Egwene,” Rand said, “the Trollocs will be chasing us. We won’t be safe until we get to Tar Valon.”

“Don’t try to frighten me off,” she said. “I am going.”

Rand knew that tone of voice. He had not heard it since she decided that climbing the tallest trees was for children, but he remembered it well. “If you think being chased by Trollocs will be fun,” he began, but Moiraine interrupted.

“We have no time for this. We must be as far away as possible by daybreak. If she is left behind, Rand, she could rouse the village before we have gone a mile, and that would surely warn the Myrddraal.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Egwene protested.

“She can ride the gleeman’s horse,” the Warder said. “I’ll leave him enough to buy another.”       “That will not be possible,” came Thom Merrilin’s resonant voice from the hayloft. This time Lan’s sword left its sheath fully, and a loud curse left his lips as well. He stared up at the gleeman balefully.

Thom tossed down a blanketroll, then slung his cased flute and harp across his back and shouldered bulging saddlebags. “This village has no use for me, now, while on the other hand, I have never performed in Tar Valon. And though I usually journey alone, after last night I have no objections at all to travelling in company.”

The Warder gave Perrin a hard look, and Perrin shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think of looking in the loft,” he muttered.

Rand found himself peering carefully around the suddenly crowded stables. He half expected to find Imoen Candwin dangling from the rafters, or Cenn Buie ready to pop up from behind a stall to invite himself along.

As the long-limbed gleeman scrambled down the ladder from the loft, Lan spoke, stiffly formal. “Is this part of the Pattern, too, Moiraine Sedai?”

“Everything is a part of the Pattern, my old friend,” Moiraine replied softly. “We cannot pick and choose. But we shall see.”

Thom reached the stable floor and turned to face the Aes Sedai, brushing straw from his patch-covered cloak. “In fact,” he said conversationally, “you might say that I insist on travelling in company. I have given many hours over many mugs of ale to thinking of how I might end my days. ‘In a Trolloc’s cookpot’ was not a favoured option.” He looked askance at the Warder’s sword. “There’s no need for that. I am not a cheese for slicing.”

“Master Merrilin,” Moiraine said, “we must go quickly, and almost certainly in great danger. The Trollocs are still out there, and we go by night. Are you sure that you want to travel with us?”

Thom eyed the lot of them with a quizzical smile. “If it is not too dangerous for the girls, it can’t be too dangerous for me. Besides, what gleeman would not face a little danger to perform in Tar Valon?”

Moiraine nodded, and Lan scabbarded his sword. Rand suddenly wondered what would have happened if Thom had changed his mind, or if Moiraine had not nodded. The gleeman began saddling his horse as if similar thoughts had never crossed his mind, but Rand noticed that he eyed Lan’s sword more than once.

Anna went to see to her own dappled mare. As she hoisted the saddle onto its back she glanced at Rand and said, “Where’s your bow? You’ll do better with that than a sword you don’t even know how to use.”

“Gone,” he answered, as he helped tighten the girth strap. “And no time to make another.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she drew a deep breath. “My da’s old bow is in my room. You can have that.”

Jorge al’Tolan had been taller than most Theren men, and strong. The draw would be close to Rand’s. But ... “That’s a kind offer. But I don’t have the right to it. You should have it, to remember him.”

“No,” she said, her voice pitched for his ears only. “I don’t need a bow to remember him. I couldn’t forget him if I wanted to; and I don’t. He would have wanted it to be put to good use I have no doubt. Take it. Please.”

Rand smiled. “I’d be glad of it. Thank you.”

Anna returned his smile wanly, asked him to finish preparing her horse, and once he had agreed, hurried off to fetch the bow.

“Now,” Moiraine said. “What horse for Egwene?”

“The peddler’s horses are as bad as the Dhurrans,” the Warder replied sourly. “Strong, but slow plodders.”

“Bela,” Rand said, getting a look from Lan that made him wish he had kept silent. But he knew he could not dissuade Egwene, no more than he could Anna; the only thing left was to help. “Bela may not be as fast as the others, but she’s strong. I ride her sometimes. She can keep up.”

Lan looked into Bela’s stall, muttering under his breath. “She might be a little better than the others,” he said finally. “I don’t suppose there is any other choice.”

“Then she will have to do,” Moiraine said. “Mat, find a saddle for Bela. Quickly, now! We have tarried too long already.”

Mat hurriedly chose a saddle and blanket in the tack room, then fetched Bela from her stall. The mare looked back at him in sleepy surprise when he put the saddle on her back. When Rand rode her, it was barebacked; she was not used to a saddle. He made soothing noises while he fixed her tack, and she accepted the oddity with no more than a shake of her mane.

The horses were ready when Anna returned. Rand accepted the bow and quiver from her gratefully, and handed over the reins of her horse. She put her boots to the stirrups and mounted smoothly.

Egwene was already in Bela’s saddle, adjusting her skirts. They were not divided for riding astride, so her wool stockings were bared to the knee. She wore the same soft leather shoes as all the other village girls, not at all suited for journeying so far.

All of the others were already mounted, Rand realized, and waiting for him. The only horse left riderless was Cloud, a tall grey with a black mane and tail that belonged to Jon Finngar, or had. He scrambled into the saddle, though not without difficulty as the grey tossed his head and pranced sideways as soon as Rand put his foot in the stirrup. It was not chance that his friends had not chosen Cloud. Master Finngar often raced the spirited grey against merchants’ horses, and Rand had never known him to lose, but he had never known Cloud to give anyone an easy ride, either. Lan must have given a huge price to make the miller sell. As he settled in the saddle Cloud’s dancing increased, as if the grey were eager to run. Rand gripped the reins firmly.

Lan paused by the stable door, listening. “No wolves, mores the pity.”

“Wolves!” Perrin exclaimed, “That’s the last thing we need.”

The Warder favoured him with a flat stare. “Wolves don’t like Trollocs, blacksmith, and Trollocs don’t like wolves, or dogs, either. If I heard wolves I would be sure there were no Trollocs waiting in the woods for us.” He moved into the moonlit night, walking his tall black slowly.

Moiraine rode after him without a moment’s hesitation, and Egwene kept hard to the Aes Sedai’s side. Rand and the gleeman brought up the rear, following Mat, Perrin and Anna.

In the deep shadows beside the inn, just on the point of leaving the stableyard, Lan abruptly halted, motioning sharply for silence.

Boots rattled on the Wagon Bridge, and here and there on the bridge moonlight glinted off metal. The boots clattered across the bridge, grated on gravel, and continued up the street. It was not until they paused before the window of the al’Van place and Rowan Hurn stepped forward to peer within that Rand saw them for what they were. The councilman had a spear propped on his stout shoulder and an old jerkin sewn all over with steel disks straining across his chest. A dozen men from the village and the surrounding farms, some in helmets or pieces of armour that had lain dust-covered in attics for generations, accompanied him; all with a spear or a woodaxe or a rusty bill. When Master Hurn was satisfied all was well at the cobblers, he gave a nod and moved on. The others formed two ragged ranks behind him, and the patrol marched into the night as if stepping to three different drums.

“Two Dha’vol Trollocs would have them all for breakfast,” Lan muttered when the sound of their boots had faded, “but they have eyes and ears. Come.”

Under the Warder’s deft direction, keeping away from any of the village houses, the line of horses wound its quiet way through Emond’s Field.

Twice more Lan stopped, signing them all to be quiet, though no-one else heard or saw anything. Each time he did, however, another patrol of villagers and farmers soon passed. Slowly they moved toward the north edge of the village.

Rand peered at the high-peaked houses in the dark, trying to impress them on his memory.  _ A fine adventurer I am _ , he thought. He was not even out of the village yet, and already he was homesick. But he did not stop looking.

They passed beyond the last farmhouses on the outskirts of the village and into the countryside, paralleling the North Road that led to Taren Ferry. Rand thought that surely no night sky elsewhere could be as beautiful as the Theren sky. The clear black seemed to reach to forever, and myriad stars gleamed like points of light scattered through crystal. The moon, only a thin slice less than full, appeared almost close enough to touch, if he stretched, and ...

A black shape flew slowly across the silvery ball of the moon. Rand’s involuntary jerk on the reins halted the grey.  _ A bat _ , he thought weakly, but he knew it was not. Bats were a common sight of an evening, darting after flies and bitemes in the twilight. The wings that carried this creature might have the same shape, but they moved with the slow, powerful sweep of a bird of prey. Worst of all was the size. For a bat to seem so large against the moon it would have had to be almost within arm’s reach. He tried to judge in his mind how far away it must be, and how big. The body of it had to be as large as a man, and the wings ... It crossed the face of the moon again, wheeling suddenly downward to be engulfed by the night.

He did not realize that Lan had ridden back to him until the Warder caught his arm. “What are you sitting here and staring at, boy? We have to keep moving.” The others waited behind Lan.

Half expecting to be told he was letting fear of the Trollocs overcome his sense, Rand told what he had seen. He hoped that Lan would dismiss it as a bat, or a trick of his eyes.

Lan growled a word, sounding as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Draghkar.” Egwene and the other Theren folk stared at the sky nervously in all directions, but the gleeman groaned softly.

“Yes,” Moiraine said. “It is too much to hope otherwise. And if the Myrddraal has a Draghkar at his command, then he will soon know where we are, if he does not already. We must move more quickly than we can cross-country. We may still reach Taren Ferry ahead of the Myrddraal, and he and his Trollocs will not cross as easily as we.”

“A Draghkar?” Egwene said. “What is it?”

It was Thom Merrilin’s hoarse voice that answered her. “In the war that ended the Age of Legends worse than Trollocs and Halfmen were created.”

Moiraine’s head jerked toward him as he spoke. Not even the dark could hide the sharpness of her look, though why she was annoyed by Thom speaking up, Rand could not say.

Before anyone could ask the gleeman for more, Lan began giving directions. “We take to the North Road, now. For your lives, follow my lead, keep up and keep together.”

He wheeled his horse about, and the others galloped wordlessly after him.

On the hard-packed dirt of the North Road the horses stretched out, manes and tails streaming back in the moonlight as they raced northward, hooves pounding a steady rhythm. Lan led the way, black horse and shadow-clad rider all but invisible in the cold night. Moiraine’s white mare, matching the stallion stride for stride, was a pale dart speeding through the dark. The rest followed in a tight line, as if they were all tied to a rope with one end in the Warder’s hands.

Rand galloped last in line, with Thom Merrilin just ahead and the others less distinct beyond. The gleeman never turned his head, reserving his eyes for where they ran, not what they ran from. If Trollocs appeared behind, or the Fade on its silent horse, or that flying creature, the Draghkar, it would be up to Rand to sound an alarm.

Every few minutes he craned his neck to peer behind while he clung to Cloud’s mane and reins. The Draghkar ... Worse than Trollocs and Fades, Thom had said. But the sky was empty, and he could see only darkness in the fields to their side.

Lan must have asked a question, for Moiraine suddenly shouted over the wind and the pounding of hooves. “I cannot! Most especially not from the back of a galloping horse. They are not easily killed, even when they can be seen. We must run, and hope.”

Now that the grey had been let loose to run, the animal sped through the night like a ghost, easily keeping pace with Lan’s stallion. And Cloud wanted to go faster. He wanted to catch the black, strained to catch the black. Rand had to keep a firm hand on the reins, fighting him for mastery with every stride.

Lying low on Cloud’s neck, Rand kept a worried eye on Bela and on her rider. When he had said the shaggy mare could stay with the others, he had not meant on the run. She kept up now only by running as he had not thought she could. Lan had not wanted Egwene in their number. Would he slow for her if Bela began to flag? Or would he try to leave her behind? The Aes Sedai and the Warder thought Rand, Mat and Perrin were important in some way, but for all of Moiraine’s talk of the Pattern, he did not think they included Egwene in that importance.

If Bela fell back, he would fall back, too, whatever Moiraine and Lan had to say about it. Back where the Fade and the Trollocs were. Back where the Draghkar was. With all his heart and desperation he silently shouted at Bela to run like the wind, silently tried to will strength into her.  _ Run! _ His skin prickled, and his bones felt as if they were freezing, ready to split open.  _ The Light help her, run!  _ And Bela ran.

On and on they sped, northward into the night.


	7. At the Stag and Lion

CHAPTER 16: At The Stag and Lion

Inside, the inn was every bit as busy as it had sounded from the stableyard. The party from Emond’s Field followed Mistress Fitch through the back door, soon weaving around and between a constant stream of men and women in long aprons, platters of food and trays of drink held high. The bearers murmured quick apologies when they got in anyone’s way, but they never slowed by a step. One of the men took hurried orders from Mistress Fitch and disappeared at a trot.

“The inn is near full, I’m afraid,” the innkeeper told Moiraine. “Almost to the rafters. Every inn in the town is the same. With the winter we just had ... well, as soon as it cleared enough for them to get down out of the mountains we were inundated—yes, that’s the word—inundated by men from the mines and smelters, all telling the most horrible tales. Wolves, and worse. The kind of tales men tell when they’ve been cooped up all winter. I can’t think there’s anyone left up there at all, we have that many here. But never fear. Things may be a little crowded, but I’ll do my best by you and Master Andra. And your friends, too, of course.” She glanced curiously once or twice at Rand and the others; except for Thom their clothes named them country folk, and Thom’s gleeman’s cloak made him as strange a travelling companion as the rest for “Mistress Alys and Master Andra.” “I will do my best, you may rest assured.”

Rand stared at the bustle around them and tried to avoid being stepped on. He recalled how Mistress al’Vere and her husband tended the Winespring Inn with no more than the occasional assistance from their daughters, and shook his head wordlessly. It had been the biggest building he’d ever seen, but even the Winespring was tiny in comparison to this place.

Mat and Perrin craned their necks in interest toward the common room, from which rolled a wave of laughter and singing and jovial shouting whenever the wide door at the end of the hall swung open. Muttering about finding out the news, the Warder disappeared through that swinging door, swallowed by a wave of merriment.

Rand wanted to follow him, but he wanted a bath even more. He could have done with people and laughing right then, but the common room would appreciate his presence more when he was clean. Mat and the others apparently felt the same; Mat was scratching surreptitiously.

“Mistress Fitch,” Moiraine said, “I understand there are Children of the Light in Baerlon. Is there likely to be trouble?”

“Oh, never you worry about them, Mistress Alys. They’re up to their usual tricks. Claim there’s an Aes Sedai in the town.” Moiraine lifted an eyebrow, and the innkeeper spread her plump hands. “Don’t you worry. They’ve tried it before. There’s no Aes Sedai in Baerlon, and the Governor knows it. The Whitecloaks think if they show an Aes Sedai—some woman they claim is an Aes Sedai—and offer to protect us from her, people will let all of them inside the walls. Well, I suppose some would. Some would. But most people know what the Whitecloaks are up to, and want no part in their ‘holy’ war.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Moiraine said dryly. She put a hand on the innkeeper’s arm. “Is Min still here? I wish to talk with her, if she is.”

Mistress Fitch’s answer was lost to Rand in the arrival of attendants to lead them to the baths. Moiraine, Egwene and Anna vanished behind a plump woman with a ready smile and an armload of towels. The gleeman and Rand and his friends found themselves following a slight, dark-haired fellow, Ara by name.

Rand tried asking Ara about Baerlon, but the man barely said two words together except to say Rand had a funny accent, and then the first sight of the bath chamber drove all thoughts of talk right out of Rand’s head. A dozen tall, copper bathtubs sat in a circle on the tiled floor, which sloped down slightly to a drain in the centre of the big stone-walled room. A thick towel, neatly folded, and a large cake of yellow soap sat on a stool behind each tub, and big black iron cauldrons of water stood heating over fires along one wall. On the opposite wall logs blazing in a deep fireplace added to the general warmth.

“Almost as good as the Winespring Inn back home,” Perrin said loyally, if not exactly with a great attention to truth.

Thom barked a laugh, and even Mat sniggered, “Sounds like we brought a Coplin with us and didn’t know it.”

Rand gave a short laugh before shrugging out of his cloak and starting to strip off his travel-stained clothes. Ara filled four of the copper tubs while the travellers undressed. Once their clothes were all in piles on the stools, Ara brought them each a large bucket of hot water and a dipper. That done, he sat on a stool by the door, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

The others seemed as disinterested as Rand in anything that didn’t involve getting clean, so there was little in the way of conversation while they lathered and sluiced away a week of grime. The sight of wet, well-sudsed flesh gleaming in the firelight might have been a fine thing on another day, but now Rand only noted vaguely that Thom was surprisingly fit for a white-haired man, albeit in a wiry sort of way.

Once washed, it was into the tubs for a long soak; Ara had made the water hot enough that settling in was a slow process of luxuriant sighs. The air in the room went from warm to misty and hot. For a long time there was no sound except the occasional long, relaxing exhalation as tight muscles loosened and a chill that they had come to think permanent was drawn out of their bones.

“Need anything else?” Ara asked suddenly. “More towels? More hot water?” He didn’t have much room to talk about people’s accents; he and Master Fitch talked all low, and were shortening or elongating their vowels in a seemingly random way that was very strange to Rand’s ears. Not unpleasant by any means, just strange.

“Nothing,” Thom said in his reverberant voice. Eyes closed, he gave an indolent wave of his hand. “Go and enjoy the evening. At a later time I will see that you receive more than adequate recompense for your services.” He settled lower in the tub, until the water covered everything but his eyes and nose.

Ara’s eyes went to the stools behind the tubs, where their clothes and belongings were stacked. He glanced at the longbows, but lingered longest over Rand’s sword and Perrin’s axe. “Is there trouble downcountry, too?” he said abruptly.

“What do you mean, too?” Rand asked. “Is there some kind of trouble here?”

Thom raised himself back up a little, and opened his eyes.

“Here?” Ara snorted. “I meant the Ghealdan kind of trouble. No, I suppose not. Nothing but sheep downcountry, is there? No offense. I just mean it’s quiet down there. Still, it’s been a strange winter. Strange things in the mountains. I heard the other day there were Trollocs up in Saldaea. But that’s the Borderlands then, isn’t it?” He finished with his mouth still open, then snapped it shut, appearing surprised that he had said so much.

Rand had tensed at the word Trollocs, and tried to hide it by wringing his washcloth out over his head. As the fellow went on he relaxed, but not everyone kept his mouth shut.

“Trollocs?” Mat chortled. Rand splashed water at him, but Mat just wiped it off of his face with a grin. “You just let me tell you about Trollocs.”

Thom spoke up. “Why don’t you not? I am a little tired of hearing my own stories back from you.”

“He’s a gleeman,” Perrin added, by way of support.

Ara gave him a scornful look. “I saw the cloak. You going to perform?”

“Just a minute,” Mat protested. “What’s this about me telling Thom’s stories? Are you all—?”

“You just don’t tell them as well as Thom,” Rand cut him off hastily.

Perrin hopped in. “You keep adding in things, trying to make it better, and they never do.”

“And you get it all mixed up, too,” Rand added. “Best leave it to Thom.”

They were all talking so fast that Ara stared at them with his mouth hanging open. Mat stared, too, as if everyone else had suddenly gone crazy. Rand wondered how to shut him up short of jumping on him.

The door banged open to admit Lan, brown cloak slung over one shoulder, along with a gust of cooler air that momentarily thinned the mist.

“Well,” the Warder said, rubbing his hands, “this is what I have been waiting for.” Ara picked up a bucket, but Lan waved it away. “No, I will see to myself.” Dropping his cloak on one of the stools, he bundled the bath attendant out of the room, despite the fellow’s protests, and shut the door firmly after him. He waited there a moment, his head cocked to listen, and when he turned back to the rest of them his voice was stony and his eyes stabbed at Mat. “It’s a good thing I got back when I did farmboy. Don’t you listen to what you are told?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Mat protested. “I was just going to tell him about the Trollocs, not about ...” He stopped, and leaned back from the Warder’s eyes, flat against the back of the tub.

“Don’t talk about Trollocs,” Lan said grimly. “Don’t even think about Trollocs.” With an angry snort he began filling himself a bathtub. “Blood and ashes, you had better remember, the Dark One has eyes and ears where you least expect. And if the Children of the Light heard Trollocs were after you, they’d be burning to get their hands on you. To them, it would be as much as naming you Darkfriend. It may not be what you are used to, but until we get where we are going, keep your trust small unless Mistress Alys or I tell you differently.” At his emphasis on the name Moiraine was using, Mat flinched.

“There was something that fellow wouldn’t tell us,” Rand said. “Something he thought was trouble, but he wouldn’t say what it was.”

“Probably the Children,” Lan said, pouring more hot water into his tub. “Most people consider them trouble. Some don’t, though, and he did not know you well enough to risk it. You might have gone running to the Whitecloaks, for all he knew.”

Rand shook his head; this place already sounded worse than Taren Ferry.

“He said there were Trollocs in ... in Saldaea, wasn’t it?” Perrin said.

Lan hurled his empty bucket to the floor with a crash. “You will talk about it, won’t you? There are always Trollocs in the Borderlands, blacksmith, that’s why they are called the Borderlands. Just you put it in the front of your mind that we want no more attention than mice in a field. Concentrate on that. And do not speak of the Shadow in front of strangers. Moiraine wants to get you all to Tar Valon alive, and I will do it if it can be done, but if you bring any harm to her ...”

The rest of their bathing was done in silence, and their dressing afterwards, too.

When they left the bath chamber, Moiraine was standing at the far end of the hall with a slender girl not much taller than herself. At least, Rand thought it was a girl, though her dark hair was cut short and she wore a man’s baggy shirt and trousers. Moiraine said something, and the girl glanced at the men sharply, then nodded to Moiraine and hurried away before Rand could get a good look at her.

“Well, now,” Moiraine said as they drew closer, “I am sure a bath has given you all an appetite. Mistress Fitch has given us a private dining room.” She talked on inconsequentially as she turned to lead the way, about their rooms and the crowding in the town, and how the innkeeper hoped Thom would favour the common room with some music and a story or two. She never mentioned the girl, if girl it had been.

The private dining room had a polished oak table with a dozen chairs around it, and a thick rug on the floor. As they entered, Egwene, freshly gleaming hair combed out around her shoulders, turned from warming her hands at the fire crackling on the hearth. Anna had already taken a seat at the table, with her back to Egwene. The two girls had scarcely spoken in the days since their argument. Anna’s short hair was neatly combed and she had donned a fresh set of clothes. Boy’s clothes, of course, like that other girl. Though from what Rand had seen it was no more common in Baerlon than it was in the Theren.

Mistress Fitch bustled in then, followed by four women in white aprons as long as hers, with a platter holding three roast chickens and others bearing silver, and pottery dishes, and covered bowls. The other women began setting the table immediately, while the innkeeper curtseyed to Moiraine.

“My apologies, Mistress Alys, for making you wait like this, but with so many people in the inn, it’s a wonder anybody gets served at all. I am afraid the food isn’t what it should be, either. Just the chickens, and some turnips and henpeas, with a little cheese for after. No, it just isn’t what it should be. I truly do apologize.”

“A feast.” Moiraine smiled. “For these troubled times, a feast indeed, Mistress Fitch.”

The innkeeper curtseyed again, with a pleasant smile. “My thanks, Mistress Alys. My thanks.” As she straightened she frowned and wiped an imagined bit of dust from the table with a corner of her apron. “It isn’t what I would have laid before you a year ago, of course. Not nearly. The winter. Yes. The winter. My cellars are emptying out, and the market is all but bare. And who can blame the farm folk? There’s certainly no telling when they’ll harvest another crop. It’s the wolves get the mutton and beef that should go on people’s tables, and ...”

Abruptly she seemed to realize that this was hardly the conversation to settle her guests to a comfortable meal. “How I do run on. Full of old wind, that’s me. Mari, Cinda, let these good people eat in peace.” She made shooing gestures at the women and, as they scurried from the room, swung back to curtsy to Moiraine yet again. “I hope you enjoy your meal, Mistress Alys. If there’s anything else you need, just speak it, and I will fetch it.” She gave one more deep curtsy and was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

Lan had slouched against the wall through all of this as if half asleep. Now he leaped up and was at the door in two long strides. Pressing an ear to a door panel, he listened intently for a slow count of thirty, then snatched open the door and stuck his head into the hall. “They’re gone,” he said at last, closing the door. “We can talk safely.”

“I know you say not to trust anyone,” Egwene said, “but if you suspect the innkeeper, why stay here?”

“I suspect her no more than anyone else,” Lan replied. “But then, until we reach Tar Valon, I suspect everyone. There, I’ll suspect only half.”

Rand started to smile, thinking the Warder was making a joke. Then he realized there was not a trace of humour on Lan’s face. He really would suspect people in Tar Valon. Was anywhere safe?

“He exaggerates,” Moiraine told them soothingly. “Mistress Fitch is a good woman, honest and trustworthy. But she does like to talk, and with the best will in the world she might let something slip to the wrong ear. And I have never yet stopped at an inn where half the maids did not listen at doors and spend more time gossiping than making beds. Come, let us be seated before our meal gets cold.”

They took places around the table, with Moiraine at the head and Lan at the foot, and for a while everyone was too busy filling their plates for talk. It might not have been a feast, but after close to a week of flatbread and dried meat, it tasted like one.

After a time, Moiraine asked, “What did you learn in the common room?” Knives and forks stilled, suspended in midair, and all eyes turned to the Warder.

“Little that’s good,” Lan replied. “Avin was right, at least as far as talk has it. There was a battle in Ghealdan, and Logain was the victor. A dozen different stories are floating about, but they all agree on that.”

Logain? That must be the false Dragon. It was the first time Rand had heard a name put to the man. Lan sounded almost as if he knew him.

“The Aes Sedai?” Moiraine asked quietly, and Lan shook his head.

“I don’t know. Some say they were all killed, some say none.” He snorted. “Some even say they went over to Logain. There’s nothing reliable, and I did not care to show too much interest.”

“Yes,” Moiraine said. “Little that is good.” With a deep breath she brought her attention back to the table. “And what of our own circumstances?”

“There, the news is better. No odd happenings, no strangers around who might be Myrddraal, certainly no Trollocs. And the Whitecloaks are busy trying to make trouble for Governor Ada because she won’t cooperate with them. They will not even notice us unless we advertise ourselves.”

“Good,” Moiraine said. “That agrees with what the bath maid said. Gossip does have its good points. Now,” she addressed the entire company, “we have a long journey still ahead of us, but the last week has not been easy, either, so I propose to remain here tonight and tomorrow night, and leave early the following morning.” All the younger folk grinned; a city for the first time. Moiraine smiled, but she still said, “What does Master Andra say to that?”

Lan eyed the grinning faces flatly. “Well enough, if they remember what I’ve told them for a change.”

Thom snorted through his moustaches. “These country folk loose in a ... a city.” He snorted again and shook his head.

With the crowding at the inn there were only three rooms to be had, one for Moiraine, Egwene and Anna, one for Lan and Thom, and the last for the three boys. Their room was up on the fourth floor, at the back, close up under the overhanging eaves, with a single small window that overlooked the stableyard. It was a small room to begin, and the extra bed that had been set up made it seem even smaller. Full night had fallen by then, the room was lit by a single lantern, and Rand found himself yawning as he stretched out on the mattress. It was deliciously soft after a week on the road. Perrin was yawning too, but Mat stood listening to Thom sing random words to warm up his voice as he strode down the corridor outside their room. Soon a muffled shout came from downstairs, as the common room greeted the gleeman’s arrival.

“Do you two want to head down and listen,” Mat asked.

“I’ll pass tonight,” Rand murmured. A week ago he would have been down those stairs like a falling rock just for the chance he might see a gleeman perform, just for the rumour of it. But he had heard Thom tell his stories every night for a week, and Thom would be there tomorrow night, and the next, and the hot bath had loosened kinks in muscles that he had thought would be there forever.

Perrin agreed. “I’ve heard enough stories for a while.” He stretched out on his bed.

Mat leaned against the doorframe with a mischievous look on his face. “I can think of something we could do. Something we haven’t done in a while,” he said in a too-casual voice.

Rand’s fatigue drained away with astonishing speed. He pursed his lips slightly and glanced back and forth between his two friends. He had a good idea what Mat meant.

Perrin looked alarmed. “We’re in a—very full!—inn,” he pointed out.

Mat gave a heedless shrug. “So we lock the door, stay quiet and be quick,” he grinned roguishly. “It’s been more than a week since we had any privacy, I can’t be the only one that’s feeling frustrated.”

“No, but ...” Perrin frowned at the floor. He seemed reluctant, if not disgusted; but that was just his usual response to such propositions.

Perrin was often slow to arrive at a decision; he preferred to think things over exhaustively first. Mat too-often didn’t think at all and just did whatever he felt like. Rand liked to think he himself was somewhere in the middle of his friends’ extremes.

Rand made a quick decision. He surged to his feet, walked over to Mat, reached past him and latched the door to their room.

Mat grinned up at him. “I had a feeling you’d be up for it.”

“I’m not sure I like what you’re implying,” Rand said, with mock-offense.

“We’ll soon see,” said Mat as he reached up and pulled Rand’s head down for a kiss. As ever, Mat was an aggressive kisser, and not shy with his tongue. Rand’s skin tingled in excited anticipation of something even sweeter. Their cheeks were well-reddened by the time they came up for air.

They began hastily undressing. Rand’s coat and shirt were soon tossed carelessly aside, and when he rid himself of his trousers and linen drawers, they all saw that he was, in fact, “up for it”.

Mat’s still-flaccid cock flapped against his thighs as he kicked off his trousers. His lean and wiry body, and his hairless chest were a welcome sight; a comforting familiarity in that strange city.

Wordlessly, Rand pulled his friend’s naked chest to his and kissed him passionately.

When his hand slid down to squeeze Mat’s bottom, the shorter youth broke their kiss with a slight blush on his face. He edged past Rand and moved to kneel on the bed. Once there, he grinned back over his shoulder and spread his legs, his cock and balls hanging low and his tight ass on display.

Rand grinned back, then took his hard shaft in hand and aimed it at Mat’s entrance. Mat relaxed himself as best he could but Rand’s slow passage inside still brought a series of soft grunts from his lips. Long sighs of satisfaction escaped them both when at last Rand’s length was fully sheathed in Mat.

Perrin watched all out of the corner of his eye. Ever since the three of them had begun playing with each other like this—during that memorable camping trip to the foothills of the Mountains of Mist when they were twelve—the blacksmith’s apprentice had been the most inhibited of the boys. Rand had begun it; when he woke one night, as they huddled together for warmth, to find Mat’s stiff cock poking against his hip. It had seemed only natural to him to lower his smallclothes, lay on his side and guide his friend’s erection to his smooth hole. After all, he had been doing as much for Tam almost as long as he could remember. The others had thought it somewhat less natural, though Mat hadn’t taken long to adjust, for all his wide-eyed looks and fiercely-whispered questions. It had been Mat’s moans, as he pounded feverishly into Rand’s ass, that woke the shocked Perrin.

Their positions were reversed now, but Rand rode Mat every bit as eagerly as his friend had ridden him back then. He gritted his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose to stifle as much sound as possible as Mat’s ass caressed every inch of him, stroke after shallow stroke.

Rand let his eyes drift shut as he fucked Mat, his pleasure such that he lost track of time. He could not say how long Perrin had watched the naked boys cavorting before temptation overcame his reticence. He hadn’t noticed the burly youth undress. So when he felt strong hands holding his hips steady and something thick and hot prodding at his rear entrance, Rand’s eyes popped open in surprise.

The sudden stop alerted Mat, and they both looked back over their shoulders to see Perrin join them. Rand made himself relax, and welcomed Perrin into his body.

Perrin hadn’t always been so willing to get involved. He’d been appalled when he first saw what Rand and Mat were doing. Red-faced, sputtering incoherently about how improper it was ... but seeing them in the act had raised a tent in his drawers, and when Rand had lowered his mouth towards it Perrin’s efforts to push him away had been feeble at best. He’d kept whispering that Rand shouldn’t be doing that, but he’d still come in Rand’s mouth that night, just like Tam often did. Rand had swallowed, just as he was taught. He didn’t particularly like the taste, but for Tam or Perrin he would be willing to put up with much worse.

There was no appalled sputtering this time. Perrin grunted softly, forcing his way into Rand’s tight ass, inch by inch, stretching and then filling him. Rand moaned aloud, unable to swallow the sound as he was sandwiched between his two oldest friends.

Mat gave a short snicker. “I knew you’d come around, Perrin.”

“Quiet, both of you,” Perrin whispered. “We need to be done before Thom or Lan gets back.” So saying, he ran his hands up Rand’s back to rest atop his shoulders, then starting buggering him hard and fast.

Rand followed his example. It was awkward for him at first, trying to thrust into Mat as Perrin thrust into him. But he soon matched his pace to Perrin’s. He held Mat’s narrow hips steady before him as he ravaged his friend’s tight hole and felt his own cheeks shiver each time Perrin’s hips smacked against him.

He could not have lasted against that dual assault even if he had wanted to. Rand was the first of the three to come to orgasm, hilting himself in Mat one final time as he unconsciously clenched himself hard around Perrin’s cock. Perrin kept thrusting, but the added tightness brought a low moan to his lips. The sound was sweet to Rand, but not half so sweet as the thrilling surge that shot through him as he spurted in Mat’s ass.

When his pleasure had run its course Rand slumped between his friends, a flushed and sweaty mess with trembling knees. He hung on Perrin’s thick cock like a coat on a peg, grateful, too, for Mat’s cushioning cheeks. Without them both he wasn’t sure he could have stayed upright.

Perrin kept right on pounding him, wild with desire. He was still pounding away while Rand’s cock softened and slid out of Mat’s well-stretched hole, freeing him to clamber shakily from the bed. When Rand fell face down on the mattress, Perrin fell with him, still pounding. Perrin’s bulk pressed Rand down into the soft bed and the fierceness of his lovemaking left Rand’s ass raw and red. He would be sore tonight, he knew, but he was far from concerned with that. Instead he found himself softly gasping Perrin’s name.

Perhaps that was what set Perrin off. After a final few short strokes of Rand’s ass he pushed himself all the way in and stayed there. They both sighed loudly as Perrin’s cream flowed forth to fill Rand’s bowels.

Rand savoured the aftermath. The way Perrin’s thick bush tickled his tailbone, the weight of his muscular chest pressed against his back, the warmth radiating off their tired bodies, and best of all the way he could feel his old friend trembling from emotion, feel him inside and out.

After a time, Perrin rolled off Rand and sprawled beside him on the bed.

He found Mat waiting for him. “Well that looked fun,” he said, standing by the bedside with his long cock jutting out in front of him. “And now it’s my turn.”

With a groan, Perrin hauled himself over onto his belly. “That it is.”

He and Rand lay side by side as Mat climbed back onto the bed and hovered over them, his cock hard and ready. Rand wondered briefly which of them Mat would take, but the answer came to him quick enough. Rand had already buggered and been buggered tonight, and for all his roguish ways Mat had a strong sense of fair play.

Perrin spread his thick legs obligingly as Mat knelt behind him, and gripped the bedsheets in his fists when he felt that long, thin cock work its way inside.

Rand slid away from the pair. He lay on the edge of the bed and watched them lazily, feeling sated and sleepy.

Mat’s nimble fingers danced across Perrin’s impressive back as they fucked, the flesh of Perrin’s heavy backside cushioning Mat’s thrusts well. Their sweat-slick bodies glistened in the lantern’s light. Mat was intent on pursuing his pleasure, and rode Perrin fast and shallow; it wasn’t long at all before his face contorted and his movement stopped. He stiffened all over, held the silent pose for a long time, then collapsed like a gleeman’s puppet that had had its strings cut, his cheek resting against Perrin’s broad back and his brown eyes glazed with satisfaction.

Rand dragged himself to his feet and tottered towards his own bed. He extinguished the lamp on his way, before slipping under the covers with a sigh. As sore as he was, and as difficult as the past week had been, he felt he would sleep well tonight.

“See. That was much better than listening to Thom’s stories all over again,” Mat said in the darkness.

Perrin gave a  _ humph _ by way of acknowledgement. “You might have been right for once.”

Mat snorted. “For once, he says. Back me up here Rand.”

“It was great, you two,” Rand mumbled, already half-asleep. “Sleep well. Love you.”

Mat gave a nervy laugh. “Light, don’t be weird, Rand.”

A long moment of silence followed. The last thing Rand heard before darkness claimed him was Perrin whispering, “You, too.”

The hallway was dim and shadowy, and empty except for Rand. He could not tell where the light came from, what little there was of it; the black walls were bare of candles or lamps, nothing at all to account for the faint glow that seemed to just be there. The air was still and dank, and somewhere in the distance water dripped with a steady, hollow plonk. Wherever this was, it was not the inn. Frowning, he rubbed at his forehead. Inn? His head hurt, and thoughts were hard to hold on to. There had been something about ... an inn? It was gone, whatever it was.

He licked his lips and wished he had something to drink. He was awfully thirsty, dry-as-dust thirsty. It was the dripping sound that decided him. With nothing to choose by except his thirst, he started toward that steady plonk—plonk—plonk.

The hallway stretched on, without any crossing corridor and without the slightest change in appearance. The only features at all were the rough doors set at regular intervals in pairs, one on either side of the hall, the wood splintered and dry despite the damp in the air. The shadows receded ahead of him, the sourceless light moved with him, and the dripping never came any closer. After a long time he came to a halt, staring ahead. Despair took root in him. He wondered how long he could trudge down this same familiar corridor without ever seeing the end. He could not say how long he had walked already, how many doors he had left unopened, but he felt as though he had been walking since the dawn of time. For lack of a better option, he decided try one of the doors. It opened easily, and he stepped through into a grim, stone-walled chamber.

One wall opened in a series of arches onto a black stone balcony, or at least he thought it was stone; it was strangely smooth, almost metallic. And the sky beyond those arches was stranger still. Striated clouds in blacks and greys, reds and oranges, streamed by as if storm winds drove them, weaving and interweaving endlessly. No-one could ever have seen a sky like that; it could not exist.

He pulled his eyes away from the balcony, but the rest of the room was no better. Odd curves and peculiar angles, as if the chamber had been melted almost haphazardly out of the stone, and columns that seemed to grow out of the black floor. Flames roared on the hearth like a forge-fire with the bellows pumping, but gave no heat. Strange oval stones made the fireplace; they just looked like stones, wet-slick despite the fire, when he looked straight at them, but when he glimpsed them from the corner of his eye they seemed to be faces instead, the faces of men and women writhing in anguish, screaming silently. The high-backed chairs and the polished table in the middle of the room were perfectly ordinary, but that in itself emphasized the rest. A single mirror hung on the wall, but that was not ordinary at all. When he looked at it he saw only a blur where his reflection should have been. Everything else in the room was shown true, but not him.

A man stood in front of the fireplace. He hadn’t noticed the man when he first entered, if he did not know it was impossible he would have sworn the man simply appeared from nothing. Dressed in dark clothes of a fine cut, he seemed in the prime of his maturity, a tall and handsome man of a height with Rand, but with dark hair and darker eyes.

“Once more we meet face-to-face,” the man said and Rand realised that he had been mistaken about his eyes. They were not dark as a man’s would be—they were orbs of purest blackness, like smooth coals lodged in the sockets of the man’s face.

With a yell Rand hurled himself backwards out of the room, so hard that he stumbled across the hall and banged into the door there, knocking it open. He twisted and grabbed at the doorhandle to keep from falling to the floor—and found himself staring wide-eyed into a dark room with an impossible sky through the arches leading to a balcony, and a fireplace ...

“You cannot get away from me that easily,” the man said.

Rand twisted, scrambling back out of the room, trying to regain his feet without slowing down. This time there was no corridor. He collided with the polished table, caught his weight on his palms and turned his head towards the strange man.

“This is a dream,” he gasped, eyes wide. Behind him he heard the click of the door closing. “It’s some kind of nightmare.” He shut his eyes, thinking about waking up. When he was a child the old Wisdom had said if you could do that in a nightmare, it would go away.  _ The ... Wisdom? What? _ If only his thoughts would stop sliding away. If only his head would stop hurting, then he could think straight.

He opened his eyes again. The room was still as it had been, the balcony, the sky. The man by the fireplace.

“Is it all merely a dream?” the man said in a deep voice. “Does it matter to the dreamer?”

_ This is just a dream. It has to be _ . All the same, he stepped backwards all the way to the door, never taking his eyes off the dark stranger by the fire, and tried the handle. It did not move; the door was locked.

“You seem thirsty,” the man said. “Drink.”

On the table was a goblet, shining gold and ornamented with rubies and amethysts. It had not been there before. He wished he could stop jumping. It was only a dream. His mouth felt like dust.

“I am, a little,” he said, picking up the goblet. The man leaned forward, one hand on the back of a chair, watching him. The smell of spiced wine drove home to Rand just how thirsty he was, as if he had had nothing to drink in days.  _ Have I? _

With the wine halfway to his mouth, he stopped. Whispers of smoke were rising from the chairback between the man’s fingers. And those pupil-less eyes watched him intently.

Some instinct called for Rand to stop. He licked his lips and put the wine back on the table, untasted. “I’m not as thirsty as I thought,” he said slowly. The man straightened abruptly, his face without expression. His disappointment could not have been more plain if he had cursed. Rand wondered what was in the wine. But that was a stupid question, of course. This was all just a dream.  _ Then why won’t it stop? _ “What do you want?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

“Some call me Ba’alzamon,” the man answered, so casually.

Rand found himself facing the door, jerking frantically at the handle. All thought of dreams had vanished. The Dark One. He was talking to the Dark One! The doorhandle would not budge, even when he rested his foot against the jam to pull; he kept twisting, desperate to get away.

“Are you the one?” Ba’alzamon said suddenly. “You cannot hide it from me forever. And once I know your current name you can never hope to hide yourself from me, not on the tallest mountain or in the deepest cave. I know you down to the smallest hair.”

Rand turned to face the man—to face Ba’alzamon. He swallowed hard.  _ Just a nightmare. _

“Are you expecting glory?” Ba’alzamon said. “Power? Did they tell you the Eye of the World would serve you? What glory or power is there for a puppet? The strings that move you have been centuries weaving. Your father was chosen by the White Tower, like a stallion roped and led to his business. Your mother was no more than a brood mare to their plans. And those plans lead to your death.”

Rand’s hands knotted in fists. “My father is a good man, and my mother was a good woman. Don’t you talk about them!”

He laughed. “So there is some spirit in you after all. Perhaps you are the one. Little good it will do you. The Amyrlin Seat will use you until you are consumed, just as Davian was used and Yurian Stonebow, and Guaire Amalasan, and Raolin Darksbane. Just as Logain is being used. Used until there is nothing left of you.”

“I don’t know ...” Rand swung his head from side to side. That one moment of clear thinking, born in anger, was gone. Even as he groped for it again he could not remember how he had reached it the first time. His thoughts spun around and around. He seized one like a raft in the whirlpool. He forced the words out, his voice strengthening the further he went. “You ... are bound ... in Shayol Ghul. You and all the Forsaken ... bound by the Creator until the end of time.”

“The end of time?” Ba’alzamon mocked. “You live like a beetle under a rock, and you think your slime is the universe. What do you know of the Wheel’s infinite turnings? The death of time will bring me power such as you could not dream of, worm.”

“You are bound—”

“Fool, I have never been bound!” The darkness that was his eyes seemed to burn into Rand, the wrath on his face was such that Rand stepped back involuntarily. “I stood at Lews Therin Kinslayer’s shoulder when he did the deed that named him. It was I who told him to kill his wife, and his children, and all his blood, and every living person who loved him or whom he loved. It was I who gave him the moment of sanity to know what he had done. Have you ever heard a man scream his soul away, worm? He could have struck at me, then. He could not have won, but he could have tried. Instead he called down his precious One Power upon himself, so much that the earth split open and reared up Dragonmount to mark his tomb.

“A thousand years later I sent the Trollocs ravening south, and for three centuries they savaged the world. Those blind fools in Tar Valon said I was beaten in the end, but the Second Covenant, the Covenant of the Ten Nations, was shattered beyond remaking, and who was left to oppose me then? I whispered in Artur Hawkwing’s ear, and the length and breadth of the land Aes Sedai died. I whispered again, and the High King sent his armies across the Aryth Ocean, across the World Sea and sealed two dooms. The doom of his dream of one land and one people, and a doom yet to come. At his deathbed I was there when his councillors told him only Aes Sedai could save his life. I spoke and he ordered his councillors to the stake. I spoke, and the High King’s last words were to cry that Tar Valon must be destroyed.

“When men such as these could not stand against me, what chance do you have, a toad crouching beside a forest puddle. You will serve me, or you will dance on Aes Sedai strings until you die. And then you will be spat out to dance the same steps, to die the same deaths, over and over again, time without end.”

“No,” Rand muttered, “this is a dream. It is a dream!”

“Do you think you are safe from me in your dreams? Look!” Ba’alzamon pointed commandingly, and Rand’s head turned to follow, although he did not turn it; he did not want to turn.

The goblet was gone from the table. Where it had been crouched a large rat, blinking at the light, sniffing the air warily. Ba’alzamon crooked his finger, and with a squeak the rat arched its back, forepaws lifting into the air while it balanced awkwardly on its hind feet. The finger curved more, and the rat toppled over, scrabbling frantically, pawing at nothing, squealing shrilly, its back bending, bending, bending. With a sharp snap like the breaking of a twig, the rat trembled violently and was still, lying bent almost double.

Rand swallowed. “Anything can happen in a dream,” he mumbled. Without looking he swung his fist back against the door again. His hand hurt, but he still did not wake up.

“Then go to the Aes Sedai. Go to the White Tower and tell them. Tell the Amyrlin Seat of this ... dream.” The man laughed. “That is one way to escape them. They will not use you, then. No, not when they know that I know. But will they let you live, to spread the tale of what they do? Are you a big enough fool to believe they will? The ashes of many like you are scattered on the slopes of Dragonmount.”

“This is a dream,” Rand said, panting. “It’s a dream, and I am going to wake up.”

“Will you?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man’s finger move to point at him. “Will you, indeed?” The finger crooked, and Rand screamed as he arched backwards, every muscle in his body forcing him further. “Will you ever wake again?”

Convulsively Rand jerked up in the darkness, his hands tightening on cloth. A blanket. Pale moonlight shone through the single window, revealing shadowed shapes that slowly coalesced into the other two beds, on which his friends slept. Perrin began muttering in his sleep.

Rand eased himself back to the mattress with a shuddering breath. It really had been a dream, then, like that nightmare in the Winespring Inn the day after Winternight. Except this one had seemed so real, and the memory of it did not fade as swiftly as his dreams normally did. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, shivering. His head had begun to hurt, too. Perhaps Moiraine could do something to stop these dreams. She had said she could help with nightmares. When he’d first met her she had made a point of saying it in fact. But were the dreams really bad enough for him to ask the help of an Aes Sedai? On the other hand, could anything he did now get him in any deeper? He huddled under his blanket, trying to find the calmness of the void the way Tam had taught him, but sleep was a long time returning.


	8. A Welcome Respite

CHAPTER 19: A Welcome Respite

After the Wisdom left him, Rand made his way to the common room. He needed to hear people laughing. The room was crowded indeed, but no-one was laughing, though every chair and bench was filled and people lined the walls. Thom was performing, standing on a table against the far wall, his gestures grand enough to fill the big room. It was The Great Hunt of the Horn again, but no-one complained, of course. There were so many tales to be told about each of the Hunters, and so many Hunters to tell of, that no two tellings were ever the same. The whole of it in one telling would have taken a week or more. The only sound competing with the gleeman’s voice and harp was the crackling of the fires in the fireplaces.

“... To the eight corners of the world, the Hunters ride, to the eight pillars of heaven, where the winds of time blow and fate seizes the mighty and the small alike by the forelock. Now, the greatest of the Hunters is Rogosh of Talmour, Rogosh Eagle-eye, famed at the court of the High King, feared on the slopes of Shayol Ghul ...” The Hunters were always mighty heroes, all of them.

Rand spotted his friends and squeezed onto a place Perrin made for him on the end of their bench. Kitchen smells drifting into the room reminded him that he was hungry, but even the people who had food in front of them gave it little attention. The maids who should have been serving stood entranced, clutching their aprons and looking at the gleeman, and nobody seemed to mind at all.

“... since the day of her birth has the Dark One marked Blaes as his own, but not of this mind is she—no Darkfriend, Blaes of Matuchin! Strong as the ash she stands, lithe as the willow branch beautiful as the rose. Golden-haired Blaes. Ready to die before she yields. But hark! Echoing from the towers of the city, trumpets blare, brazen and bold. Her heralds proclaim the arrival of a hero at her court. Drums thunder and cymbals sing! Rogosh Eagle-eye comes to do homage ...”

“The Bargain of Rogosh Eagle-eye” wound its way to an end, but Thom paused only to wet his throat from a mug of ale before launching into “Lian’s Stand.” In turn that was followed by “The Fall of Aleth-Loriel,” and “Gaidal Cain’s Sword,” and “The Last Ride of Buad of Albhain.” The pause grew longer as the evening wore on, and when Thom exchanged the harp for his flute, everyone knew it was the end of storytelling for the night. Two men joined Thom, with a drum and a hammered dulcimer, but sitting beside the table while he remained atop it.

The three young men from Emond’s Field began clapping their hands with the first note of “The Wind That Shakes the Willow,” and they were not the only ones. It was a favourite in the Theren, and in Baerlon, too, it seemed. Here and there voices even took up the words, not so off-key as for anyone to hush them.

“My love is gone, carried away, by the wind that shakes the willow, and all the land is beaten hard, by the wind that shakes the willow. But I will hold her close to me, in heart and dearest memory, and with her strength to steel my soul, her love to warm my heart, I will stand where we once sang, though cold wind shakes the willow.”

The second song was not so sad. In fact, “Only One Bucket of Water” seemed even more merry than usual by comparison, which might have been the gleeman’s intent. People rushed to clear tables from the floor to make room for dancing, and began kicking up their heels until the walls shook from the stomping and whirling. The first dance ended with laughing dancers leaving the floor holding their sides, and new people taking their places.

Thom played the opening notes of “Wild Geese on the Wing,” then paused for people to take their places for the reel.

“I think I’ll try a few steps,” Rand said, getting to his feet. Perrin popped up right behind him. Mat was the last to move, and so found himself staying behind to guard the cloaks, along with Rand’s sword and Perrin’s axe.

“Remember I want a turn, too,” Mat called after them.

The dancers formed two long lines facing each other, men in one, women in the other. First the drum and then the dulcimer took up the beat, and all the dancers began bending their knees in time. The girl across from Rand, her dark hair in braids that made him think of home, gave him a shy smile, and then a wink that was not shy at all. Thom’s flute leaped into the tune, and Rand moved forward to meet the dark-haired girl; she threw back her head and laughed as he spun her around and passed her on to the next man in line.

Everyone in the room was laughing, he thought as he danced around his next partner, one of the serving maids with her apron flapping wildly. The flow of the dance brought Anna spinning into his arms next, they grinned at each other and he whirled her in a circle before passing her on. Three more women danced with him as the music gained speed, then he was back with the first dark-haired girl for a fast promenade that changed the lines about completely. She was still laughing, and she gave him another wink. She was quite pretty; he smiled back at her and was still smiling when his next partner put her hands in his.

Rand looked down and found himself dancing with Moiraine. His smile curled up and died instantly. He stumbled through the steps, almost tripping over his own feet, nearly stepping on hers. The Aes Sedai glided across the floor smoothly, her blue gown swirling about her; he almost fell twice. She gave him a sympathetic smile as they parted, which made it worse rather than helping.

The next woman to dance into his arms was Nynaeve. He was nearly as stumble-footed with the Wisdom as he had been with the Aes Sedai. More in some ways. Nynaeve hadn’t taken part in any dances back home since old Mistress Barran had died five years ago, leaving her young apprentice to take up the job of Wisdom. Rand found himself staring at her, and kept forgetting to move his feet. Despite her lack of practice, she danced gracefully enough to make up for his clumsiness, smiling the while.

“I thought you were a better dancer,” she laughed as they changed partners.

It was a relief to go to his next partner in the pattern; after all, he had danced with Egwene for years. Her hair still hung unbraided, but she had gathered it back with a red ribbon.  _ Probably couldn’t decide whether to please Moiraine or Nynaeve _ , he thought wryly. He regained some of his poise as they danced. Her lips were parted, and she looked as if she wanted to say something to him, but she never spoke.

The reel came to an end with a final few cheerful notes. As he headed back to his place on the bench, only slightly out of breath, he noticed Min sitting alone at a corner table. The common room was crowded with locals but for some reasons the chairs across from her remained empty. If she noticed him looking she gave no sign of it.

The music for another dance, a jig, began while he was sitting down. Mat hurried to join in, and Perrin slid onto the bench as he was leaving.

“Did you see her?” Perrin began before he was even seated.

“Which one?” Rand asked. “The Wisdom, or Mistress Alys? I danced with both of them.”

“The Ae ... Mistress Alys, too?” Perrin exclaimed. “I danced with Nynaeve. I didn’t even know she danced. She never does at any of the dances back home.”

“It wouldn’t be properly dignified for a Wisdom, I guess. Did you dance with Anna?”

Perrin grinned. “I did. She said I was pretty good at it, too.”

Rand nodded approvingly. “Good. Good.”

Then the music and the clapping and the singing were too loud for any further talk. Rand and Perrin joined in the clapping as the dancers circled the floor. Mat was a good dancer. Even when paired with Moiraine he barely missed a step. While the dance was in full swing, Rand excused himself and went to visit Min.

She looked up glumly as he approached her table, and gave a small shrug of permission when he gestured to the empty chairs. He had to pull it close to hers so they could speak over the music.

“Aren’t you going to dance?” he asked.

“No. I don’t dance. And other people don’t dance when I try.” She sighed and gave her head a little shake. The teasing smile she had worn when they first spoke returned to her face. “I saw you dancing with Mistress Alys.” She shook her head in mock sympathy, her dark eyes alight with mischief. “Ouch.”

Rand crossed his arms and frowned at her. “I don’t think I did so bad, considering.”

“Well, you didn’t fall over. That’s a good start at least.” Her expression turned pensive, and when she spoke it was barely loud enough to hear. “It all starts somewhere. Though what it leads to isn’t what I would ever have expected.”

Rand didn’t ask what she meant. He was enjoying himself and didn’t want to talk about her visions. “Why don’t you come join my friends and me? I think you’d like them. You and Anna are the only two girls I’ve ever met who don’t wear dresses; you’d probably get along well. It would be better than sitting here by your lonesome at least.”

Min rested her elbow on the table, and her chin in her palm. “Blood and ashes. Don’t tell me that’s pity I hear. That’s not a good start at all. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly fine, sheepherder; I have three aunts who love me, a decent job and a good home. If some folk are a bit leery of my visions, why, I keep them to myself, and they keep clear of me.”

Rand raised his hands placatingly. “Not pity. I just don’t like to see bad things happen to good people. And it looked to me like you were getting the cold shoulder, unfairly. Come on, join us. I promise I’ll dance with you, and I’ll even try not to fall over.”

She eyed him for a time, a wry smile on her face. “There’s not much point to refusing is there. Ah, you and your friends seem decent sorts. Why not?”

Rand grinned as they rose from the table and made their way back to Perrin’s bench. Min was taller than most Theren women, but still a good foot or more shorter than he was, Rand noted. He also noted the looks they got from some of the Baerlon folk, men and women both. Many a knowing glance was shot back and forth, and many a head shook in consternation.

Anna had joined Perrin at the bench. Rand caught the tail end of their conversation as he approached. “... wanted me to be strong. But thanks for the thought.”

He took a place at the far end, leaving a spot for Min between him and Perrin. “Anna, Perrin. This is Min, would you mind if she joins us?”

His friends smiled welcomingly. “Of course not,” said Perrin. He shuffled over a little to make room.

Anna leaned over the table to peer up at the new girl. “I remember you from earlier, Min. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. Do many women up this way dress like you? I get no end of complaints over it from the Women’s Circle back home.”

Min stepped over the bench and took her seat. It occurred to Rand, belatedly, that it would have been pretty awkward for her to do that if she’d been in skirts rather than her loose brown trousers. She murmured her thanks and gave them both a friendly, if slightly embarrassed smile. “Nice to meet you both. And no, Anna, it’s not very common in Baerlon either. But I was, I have to admit, a bit of a daddy’s girl when I was little and got used to dressing like this when following him around. He was a miner you understand. My aunts tried to get me into skirts later, but they’re just not as comfortable.”

“Or as practical,” Anna added. “How could you hunt while wearing skirts? They would catch on everything.”

Min laughed lightly and gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I’m not much of a hunter, but I see what you mean. Do you hunt then?”

Anna shrugged. “A little. I’m no Tam al’Thor, or Jondyn Barran.”

“She’s being modest,” said Perrin. “She’s better at it than I am. Or most other lads.”

Anna blushed slightly. “You’ve got a knack for it, Perrin. If you spent more time in the woods and less at the forge you’d be pretty good, I’d say.” She nodded to Rand. “That one’s better than me for sure. If you ever get lost in a forest, Min, he’s the one you’d want to come find you. Tam taught him, and even my da would admit Tam was the best tracker around.”

“Well that’s nice of you to say, Anna,” Rand said, “but there are times I can barely find my own nose.”

Min laughed. “Most people would fight over who is the best at something, not over who isn’t. Should I be ducking for cover, caught in the middle like this?”

Rand laughed, too. “Light no. We’re a peaceful bunch. Usually. And besides, if Anna comes at me swinging I want you as a shield.”

“What makes you so sure I wouldn’t join her?”

“Ha! You wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of us, Rand,” laughed Anna.

The dancing and singing and talking went on into the night. Min seemed to get along well with everyone, even Mat, though she completely ignored all his efforts to flirt with her. Occasionally she would glance at Rand with an unreadable look on her face, but if she had any more visions she kept them to herself. The maids finally did remember their duties; Rand was glad to wolf down some hot stew and bread, and he wasn’t the only one. Everyone ate where they sat or stood. Rand joined in three more dances, and this time he managed his steps better when he found himself dancing with Nynaeve, and with Moiraine as well. Though he did stammer his thanks when they both complimented him on his dancing. Min joined him for the third dance, another jig. She proved a lively, if unpractised dancer, and not overly concerned with a few missed steps. The local dancers kept their distance from her, as though afraid of catching something, but if Min was hurt or offended by that she gave no sign of it. They were both laughing happily by the time the music stopped. Toward midnight Moiraine left. Egwene, after one harried look from the Aes Sedai to Nynaeve, hurried after her. The Wisdom watched them go with an unreadable expression, then deliberately joined in another dance before she left, too, with a look as if she had gained a point on the Aes Sedai.

Soon Thom was putting his flute into its case and arguing good-naturedly with those who wanted him to stay longer. Lan came by to gather up Rand and the others.

Min had been hiding her yawns behind her hand for quite a while. So she didn’t seem as offended as she might have when Lan stood over them and fixed her with a hard, silent stare. Whatever he had come to say, he plainly did not intend to say it while Min was present. She drew a deep breath and stretched her back. “Well, it’s been nice meeting for all. But it’s time I was getting to bed. Take care. I hope to see you again.”

They all bid her goodnight. Once she was far enough away the Warder leaned close. “We have to make an early start and we will need all the rest we can get.

“There’s a fellow been staring at me,” Mat said. “A man with a scar across his face. You don’t think he could be a ... one of the friends you warned us about?”

“I saw the man,” Lan said. “According to Mistress Fitch, he’s a spy for the Whitecloaks. He’s no worry to us.” Maybe he was not, but Rand could see something was bothering the Warder.

Rand glanced at Mat, who had the stiff expression on his face that always meant he was hiding something. A Whitecloak spy.  _ Could Bornhald want to get back at us that much? It was just a silly prank _ . “We’re leaving early?” he said. “Really early?” Maybe they could be gone before anything came of it.

“At first light,” the Warder replied.

Thom joined them as they left the common room. He shook his head, looking amused, as he listened to Mat sing snatches of song under his breath. Lan’s face was expressionless as they headed for the stairs.

“Where is Nynaeve sleeping?” Anna asked. “Mistress Fitch said we got the last rooms.”

“She has a bed,” Thom said dryly, “in with you and Mistress Alys ... and the other girl.”

Perrin whistled between his teeth, and Mat muttered, “Blood and ashes! I wouldn’t be in Egwene’s shoes for all the gold in Caemlyn!”

Not for the first time, Rand wished Mat could think seriously about something for more than two minutes. Their own shoes were not very comfortable right then. “I’m going to get some milk,” he said. Maybe it would help him sleep.  _ Maybe I won’t dream tonight _ .

Lan looked at him sharply. “There’s something wrong tonight. Don’t wander far. And remember, we leave whether you are awake enough to sit your saddle or have to be tied on.”

The Warder started up the stairs; the others followed him, their jollity subdued.

Rand made his way to the kitchen, where a scullery maid was still on duty. She kindly poured him a mug of milk from a big stone crock.

As he came out of the kitchen, drinking, a shape in dull black started toward him down the length of the hall, raising pale hands to toss back the dark cowl that had hidden the face beneath. The cloak hung motionless as the figure moved, and the face ... A man’s face, but pasty white, like a maggot, and eyeless, devoid even of the sockets where eyes might once have been. From oily black hair to flat cheeks was as smooth as an eggshell. Rand choked, spraying milk.

“You are one of them, boy,” the Fade said, a hoarse whisper like a file softly drawn across bone.

Dropping the mug, Rand backed away. He wanted to run, but it was all he could do to make his feet take one halting step at a time. He could not break free of that eyeless face; his gaze was held, and his stomach curdled. He tried to shout for help, to scream; his throat was like stone. Every ragged breath hurt.

The Fade glided closer, in no hurry. Its strides had a sinuous, deadly grace, like a viper, the resemblance emphasized by the overlapping black plates of armour down its chest. “Where are the others? I know they are here. Speak, boy, and I will let you live.”

Rand’s back struck wood, a wall or a door—he could not make himself look around to see which. Now that his feet had stopped, he could not make them start again. He shivered, watching the Myrddraal slither nearer. His shaking grew harder with every slow stride. From somewhere down and to his right he heard a girl’s high-pitched whimpers.

“Speak, I say, or—”

From above came a quick clatter of boots, from the stairs up the hall, and the Myrddraal cut off, whirling. For an instant the Fade’s head tilted, as if that eyeless gaze could pierce the wood to see what moved above. A sword appeared in a dead-white hand, blade as black as the cloak, and the light in the hall seemed to grow suddenly dimmer. The pounding of boots grew louder, and the Fade spun back to Rand, an almost boneless movement. The blade rose, midnight steel flashed at his head ... and stopped mere inches from his face. “You belong to the Great Lord of the Dark.” The breathy grating of that voice sounded like fingernails scratched across a slate. “You will serve his will.”

Spinning in a black blur, the Fade darted down the hall away from Rand. The shadows at the end of the hall reached out and embraced it, and it was gone.

Lan leaped down the last stairs, landing with a crash, sword in hand. He shot a glare at Rand through the open kitchen doorway.

Rand struggled to find his voice. “Fade,” he gasped. “It was ...” Abruptly he remembered his sword. Under the Myrddraal’s eyeless stare he had never thought of it—he hadn’t seemed capable of thinking of anything beyond how frightened he was. He fumbled the heron-mark blade out now, not caring if it was too late. “It ran that way!”

Lan nodded absently; he seemed to be listening to something else. “Yes. It’s going; fading. No way to pursue it now. We’re leaving, sheepherder.”


	9. The Blacksmith's Apprentice

CHAPTER 23: The Blacksmith’s Apprentice

Perrin sat in Steady’s saddle, hidden in the shadows, watching the open gateway in the distance, and absently ran his thumb along the blade of his axe. It seemed to be a clear way out of the ruined city, but he had sat there for five minutes studying it. The wind tossed his shaggy curls and tried to carry his cloak away, but he pulled the cloak back around absentmindedly.

He knew that Mat, and almost everyone else in Emond’s Field, considered him slow of thought. It was partly because he was big and usually moved carefully—he had always been afraid he might accidentally break something or hurt somebody, since he was so much bigger than the boys he grew up with—but he really did prefer to think things all the way through if he could. Quick thinking, careless thinking, had put Mat into hot water one time after another, and Mat’s quick thinking usually managed to get Rand, or him, or both, in the cookpot alongside Mat, too.

His throat tightened.  _ Light, don’t think about being in a cookpot _ . He tried to order his thoughts again. Careful thought was the way.

“I say we make a break for it,” Anna whispered. “If there are any Trollocs out there, with all that open space at least we’ll see them coming.” Her eyes were very wide as she peered into the dark buildings ahead, but her strong, pretty face was set in determination.

She was another reason for caution. Perrin had made it a point to stay as close to her as he could when they scattered. If he could find a way to get them both, or at least her, safely out of this cursed place, then he would be content not matter what else happened. He grunted softly by way of response. He had never been good with words.

There had been some sort of square in front of the gate once, with a huge fountain in its middle. Part of the fountain was still there, a cluster of broken statues standing in a big, round basin, and so was the open space around it. To reach the gate he would have to ride across that square with only the night to shield him from searching eyes. That was not a pleasant thought, either. He remembered those unseen watchers too well.

He considered the horns he had heard in the city a little while earlier. He had almost turned back, thinking some of the others might have been captured, before realizing that he could not do anything to help if they had been taken. Not against—what did Lan say—a hundred Trollocs and four Fades.  _ Moiraine Sedai said get to the river _ .

He went back to consideration of the gate. Careful thought had not given him much, but he had made his decision. He rode out of the deeper shadow into the lesser darkness.

As he did, another horse appeared from the road that opened on the right side of the square. The rider saw him and stopped dead. He stopped, too, and felt for his axe; it gave him no great sense of comfort. If that dark shape was a Fade ...

“Rand?” came a soft, hesitant call.

He let out a long, relieved breath. “It’s Perrin, Egwene,” he called back, just as softly. It still sounded too loud in the darkness. “And Anna.”

They met near the fountain.

“Have you seen anybody else?” Egwene and Anna asked at the same time, and both answered by shaking their heads.

Egwene was small and slight at the best of times but she looked a lot younger to Perrin just then than she had when she introduced him to the wonder of a woman’s touch. Despite the disappointing ending, Perrin had enjoyed her body immensely. Not that he didn’t enjoy the games he and his friends had played since they were young—he wouldn’t have taken part otherwise. But he liked the giving more than the taking, if truth be told, whereas Rand and Mat didn’t seem to mind one way or the other. It had been different with Egwene than with the other lads. He found he preferred it. “They’ll be all right,” Egwene muttered, patting Bela’s neck. “Won’t they?”

“Moiraine Sedai and Lan will look after them,” Perrin replied. “They will look after all of us once we get to the river.” He hoped it was so.

He felt a great relief once they were beyond the gate, even if there were Trollocs in the forest. Or Fades. He stopped that line of thought. The bare branches were not enough to keep him from guiding on the red star, and they were beyond Mordeth’s reach now. That one had frightened him worse than the Trollocs ever had.

Soon they would reach the river and meet Moiraine, and she would put them beyond the Trollocs’ reach as well. He believed it because he needed to believe. The wind scraped branches together and rustled the leaves and needles on the evergreens. A nighthawk’s lonely cry drifted in the dark, and he and the girls moved their horses closer together as though they were huddling for warmth. Despite the company, he felt very much alone in that forest.

A Trolloc horn sounded somewhere behind them, quick, wailing blasts, urging the hunters to hurry, hurry. Then thick, half-human howls rose on their trail, spurred on by the horn. Howls that grew sharper as they caught the human scent.

Perrin put his horse to a gallop, shouting, “Come on!” Anna was already surging past him and Egwene came right behind, both of them booting their horses, heedless of noise, heedless of the branches that slapped at them.

As they raced through the trees, guided as much by instinct as by the dim moonlight, Bela fell behind. Perrin looked back. Egwene kicked the mare and flailed her with the reins, but it was doing no good. By their sounds, the Trollocs were coming closer. He drew in enough not to leave her behind.

“Hurry!” he shouted. He could make out the Trollocs now, huge dark shapes bounding through the trees, bellowing and snarling to chill the blood. He gripped the haft of his axe, hanging at his belt, until his knuckles hurt. “Hurry, Egwene! Hurry!”

“Perrin! Look where you’re going!” Anna yelled.

Suddenly Steady screamed, and he was falling, tumbling out of the saddle as the horse dropped away beneath him. He flung out his hands to brace himself and splashed headfirst into icy water. He had ridden right off the edge of a sheer bluff into the Arindrelle.

The shock of freezing water ripped a gasp from him, and he swallowed more than a little before he managed to fight his way to the surface. He felt more than heard another splash, and thought that Egwene must have come right after him. Panting and blowing, he treaded water. It was not easy to keep afloat; his coat and cloak were already sodden, and his boots had filled. He looked around for Egwene, but saw only the glint of moonlight on the black water, ruffled by the wind.

“Egwene? Egwene!”

A spear flashed right in front of his eyes and threw water in his face. Others splashed into the river around him, too. Guttural voices raised in argument on the riverbank, and the Trolloc spears stopped coming, but he gave up on calling for the time being.

The current washed him downriver, but the thick shouts and snarls followed along the bank, keeping pace. Undoing his cloak, he let the river take it. A little less weight to drag him down. Doggedly, he set out swimming for the far bank. There were no Trollocs there. He hoped.

He swam the way they did back home, in the ponds in the Waterwood, stroking with both hands, kicking with both feet, keeping his head out of the water. At least, he tried to keep his head out of the water; it was not easy. It was too dark to see the far side of the river, but the guttural voices behind were enough to convince Perrin that he had to reach the west bank no matter what. He swam on with slow and steady strokes of his thick arms and legs. Even without the cloak, his coat and boots each seemed to weigh as much as he did. And the axe dragged at his waist, threatening to roll him over if it did not pull him under. He thought about letting the river have that, too; he thought about it more than once. It would be easy, much easier than struggling out of his boots, for instance. But every time he thought of it, he thought of crawling out on the far bank to find Trollocs waiting. The axe would not do him much good against half a dozen Trollocs—or even against one, maybe—but it was better than his bare hands.

After a while he was not even certain he would be able to lift the axe if Trollocs were there. His arms and legs became leaden; it was an effort to move them, and his face no longer came as far out of the river with each stroke. He coughed from water that went up his nose.  _ A day at the forge has no odds on this _ , he thought wearily, and just then his kicking foot struck something. It was not until he kicked it again that he realized what it was. The bottom. He was in the shallows. He’d made it across the river.

Sucking air through his mouth, he got to his feet, splashing about as his legs almost gave way. He fumbled his axe out of its loop as he floundered ashore, shivering in the wind. He did not see any Trollocs. He did not see Egwene or Anna, either. Just a few scattered trees along the riverbank, and a moonlight ribbon on the water.

When he had his breath again, he called their names over and over. Faint shouts from the far side answered him; even at that distance he could make out the harsh voices of Trollocs. His friends did not answer, though.

The wind surged, its moan drowning out the Trollocs, and he shivered. It was not cold enough to freeze the water soaking his clothes, but it felt as if it was; it sliced to the bone with an icy blade. He hugged himself in a futile effort to stop the shivering.

He kept shouting as he picked his way along the riverbank. There was no response except the winds howling but he pressed on stubbornly. Then he stopped abruptly. Holding his breath and straining his ears, Perrin waited for what felt like a long time. Then he heard it again. A faint voice coming from downriver, indistinct but definitely human. He set off at a run.

Perrin stumbled over slick stones and reaching roots as he ran; a more hasty pace than he would have liked but there was a time for careful thought and a time for action, and this was not the first. He called out, “Where are you?” as he ran, and the voice answered. This time he knew it.

A shadowed form on the riverbank raised its arm aloft. “Perrin, over here,” crouped Anna.

She was slumped against a mossy rock, breathing heavily. He went to his knees beside her and rested a hand on her sodden shoulder. “You made it, thank the Light!”

“Just about,” she wheezed. “When I saw you and Egwene go over the cliff I made my way down to shore, with Trollocs not far behind me. Didn’t fancy my chances of making it across the river, but fancied my chances of surviving on the other side even less. My horse went in with me, brave beast, but she went under about half way across. If she hadn’t pulled me as far as she did ...” She grimaced, looking guilty.

Perrin squeezed her shoulder. Carefully. “It wasn’t your fault. The Shadow caused this. Caused all of it.”

She nodded mutely. Then clambered back to her feet. They set off west again, heading inland towards the sparse trees. Anna walked on shaky legs and Perrin supported her as best he could, though in truth his own felt about to give way.

“Have you seen Egwene?” Anna asked.

“No. Are you sure you saw her go into the river?”

Anna nodded by way of response. She gave a small sigh and her face took on a grim cast. Perrin suspected she was thinking the same thing he was. Egwene’s horse had been the oldest of those that had carried them out of the Theren, if Anna’s hadn’t been able to swim the Arindrelle with Anna’s added weight, what chance had Bela of making it across? Egwene had been wearing skirts, too, Perrin could only imagine that would make it very hard to swim.

The clambered up the bank towards a small copse of trees. As they trod across a carpet of cedar needles Anna seemed to come back to herself. She shook her head and surveyed the scene. “This is a good place to rest. We’ll want to make a windbreak between the trees though. Could you cut some branches, Perrin?”

Perrin slid his axe from its loop. “Of course.”

The simple action of raising and lowered his axe brought a welcome warmth to Perrin’s body. Anna rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet as she waited. Occasionally she glanced his way, looking nervous. The cold had reddened her cheeks.

When enough branches had been cut, Anna gathered them up and set to making small tent frames in the gaps between the trees. Perrin couldn’t see what good that would do without canvas to place across the frames but he kept chopping anyway, for as long as his weary arm allowed.

He looked back dully as she kicked off her boots and unbuttoned her coat to drape over one of the little tents. Exhaustion had slowed his already slow wits. So he was still staring when she unbuckled her belt and pulled down her sodden trousers. She drew a deep breath. When she undid the ties of her white bloomers, which were just as soaked as the rest of their clothes, and let them fall to the ground with a soft thump, Perrin’s jaw dropped.

Anna’s bare legs were much thicker than Egwene’s had been, strong with muscle. The hair above her private parts was thicker too, and from the way she shuffled her feet she seemed torn between hiding that dark thicket from his gaze or hiding her pretty bottom. Perrin came back to his senses and spun around. “Sorry,” he choked, his voice having gone strangely high of a sudden. “Why ... what?”

“My father taught me that you shouldn’t wear wet clothes if you are caught out in the cold. Better to go naked, even if it means exposing yourself to the wind. You’re less likely to take a fatal chill that way,” Anna’s gruff voice sounded almost normal. Almost.

When he glanced back over his shoulder he found she had her back to him. She dragged her shirt over her head without bothering with the laces, then arranged it across one of her tents. She had a strong-looking back, Perrin thought, especially for a girl; the muscles on it were easily visible. He felt himself stirring and was glad they had their backs to each other. He turned his eyes away again.

Soon, he heard Anna settling herself in the centre of the copse. “There aren’t enough clothes to cover all the gaps,” she pointed out in a quiet voice.

When he glanced back once more he found her laying on her side on the carpet of leaves, her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself. She was watching him with her big brown eyes.

“Right.” Perrin sidled stiffly across to one of the little tent frames and quickly deposited his coat on it. He hesitated only a moment before adding his shirt to a second frame. By then he had moved around to Anna’s back. Hesitating he turned his head towards her. A rustle of leaves greeted his motion but when he looked over Anna still had her back to him.

Swallowing nervously, Perrin unbuckled his belt and yanked down his trousers before hastily hanging them out. He hoped the wind would have dried them by the time morning came. Wandering naked through the woods with spring barely even begun struck him as unwise, regardless of what Master al’Tolan had told Anna.

Naked now, he covered himself with his hands and shuffled over to the centre of the makeshift campsite. Anna made no objection when he eased himself to the ground beside her, his back to hers, carefully not touching.

Perrin was caught in a strange place between utter exhaustion and heart-pounding excitement. He needed to sleep but his mind just wouldn’t stop working, thinking through all the possible outcomes. He jumped slightly when Anna spoke in a low whisper.

“It would probably be best if we tried to conserve bodyheat.”

“That does seem sensible,” he allowed after a long pause.

A rustling marked Anna’s movement and a soft body soon pressed itself against Perrin. He noticed two stiff little points poking his back as her arms slipped around him. Her warm breath on the back of his neck soon slowed and fell into the even rhythm of sleep. Exhausted as he was, Perrin lay awake for a long while afterwards. But eventually sleep came for him, too.

They slept ‘til long after sunrise. A pleasant dream of working at Master Weyland’s forge in Emond’s Field faded away and he opened his eyes and stared, uncomprehending, at the bare branches interwoven above, sunlight trickling through.

He yawned, and the sound stirred something beside him. Soft skin rubbed against his as Anna shifted in her sleep, and memory came rushing back to Perrin.

They must have tossed and turned in the night. Perrin was on his back now with his arm across her shoulders, and Anna had burrowed in, pressing her face to his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and waist. One of his legs was clutched between her thighs.

Perrin was hard. He was often hard when he woke in the morning, but he was especially hard right then. The presence of almost any girl at a time like this might have been enough to have that effect. But it was especially true of Anna. He had admired her for a long time, tough little thing that she was. So fiercely, stubbornly, independent and yet so easy to get along with. Perrin liked it when things were nice and quiet, with no needless dramatics, and Anna was rarely involved with such things. And it helped that she was really quite pretty, perhaps not to everyone’s eyes—he had nearly come to blows with Wil al’Seen once over the things he’d had said of her—but certainly to Perrin.

In the past two years he had rarely said more than hello to her, of course. Rand and Mat knew how to talk to women, but Perrin usually just found himself holding the door or helping with some chore. He was certain they all thought him a great oaf.

He was certain, too, that even Anna couldn’t not be outraged if she woke up to find him in his current state. Moving very carefully Perrin eased himself away from the naked girl in his arms. She awoke instantly.

“Wossat?” she muttered blearily, raising her head to cast her blinking gaze about.

Perrin did not dare answer. He did not dare do anything, in fact. Save lay very, very still and hold his breath.  _ She’ll see me _ .

Seemingly deciding she had imagined whatever woke her, Anna let her head fall back to Perrin’s chest. Then she went utterly still.  _ She’s seen me. So this is how it ends _ .

He felt her gulp. Felt her heartbeat quicken through the breast that was pressed to his side. Moving very slowly, like a hare that thought the wolf had not yet seen it, Anna raised her head and looked at Perrin with her big brown eyes. When she found him staring wide-eyed back at her, she blushed scarlet.

The colour rushed to his own cheeks. “Sorry,” he said, “I can’t help it.”

“Don’t be,” she responded softly. “I’m flattered.” She was quiet for a moment, then continued in a more hesitant voice. “Do you ... like me, Perrin?”

“Very much.”

“Oh. Good. I like you, too. And it’s still a bit cold, and I’m tired of being chased ... and seeing death ... and being afraid.” Her voice had started small, but as the litany went on a light growl had crept into it. When she was done speaking, she reached up, put her hands to either side of Perrin’s face and kissed him right on the lips.

He wasn’t very good with words at the best of times, and they abandoned him completely then. He kissed her back, of course. How could he not? Her lips on his set his heart to pounding. They did not spend long on kisses though, before Anna confidently reached down and took hold of Perrin’s cock, and gave it a little squeeze. He moaned and twitched in her grasp and she jumped, releasing his member hastily. A nervous little laugh told him she was not so confident or experienced as she seemed.

The fallen leaves were not the most comfortable of blankets, so Perrin placed his hands about the slight hollows of Anna’s waist and guided her atop him. He got his first clear view of her breasts; large, lovely mounds, tipped by small pink nipples. As she knelt above him he reached up to take them in his hands, gently kneading them. Egwene had seemed to like that and from Anna’s moans it seemed she did, too.

She took his cock in her hand once more, holding it steady as she positioned herself above him. Staring down into the gap between them, she rubbed his head along her slit, her breath coming rapidly. When he came to rest outside her wet entrance, Anna held her breath and sat back, impaling herself upon his member in one forceful motion.

She grimaced in pain as Perrin gasped in pleasure. A contrast that made him feel absurdly guilty.

Anna soon adjusted to his presence inside her. She rested her palms on Perrin’s broad chest and gave an experimental jerk of her hips, bringing another gasp from his lips. She smiled at the sound and jerked again.

Her pace increased rapidly. She caressed his chest and belly with her hands, and with her eyes as well. She pressed his hands to her breasts, urging him to squeeze harder, and Perrin was happy to comply.

The dark thickets above their privates tangled and intertwined as Anna’s wet heat stroked Perrin closer and closer to climax.

“Oh Light!” she suddenly cried. Her eyes went very wide and she shuddered atop him, her mouth hanging open. And when her shudders had passed she smile in satisfaction. “Oh Perrin,” she murmured.

He smiled back at her. And she began moving again, riding him fast.

She played with his nipples, watching his face as she did so to gauge his response. Perrin didn’t quite know how he was expected to react to that, it felt no different from touching any other part of his chest. And most of his sensation was concentrated further down right then anyway.

She bounced upon him now, pulling him further out of her tight, hot hole before thrusting him back in. Again and again. It was too much. “Anna,” he grated, “Anna, I’m going to ...”

She grinned. “It’s alright; I know how to brew the heartleaf tea. Nynaeve taught me. Do it, right inside me. I want to feel it.”

So he did. For the first time in his life Perrin spilled his seed in a woman’s womb; and it was bliss.

He gave a snort and opened his eyes. Anna was still on top of him, naked as a newborn, but with her face now pressed to his chest.  _ I must have fallen asleep for a moment _ . He had grown soft and slipped out of her warm slot, too.  _ More than a moment _ .

“That was wonderful,” he murmured.

“It was. I feel so much better now.” She sounded it, too, he was glad to note. That she also sounded surprised made him feel a little less glad.

The rumbling of his stomach put an end to their cosy moment. Anna pushed herself up from him, giving him a good view of her lovely breasts. “We should see about finding something to eat. And look for the others. Rand and the rest could have tried to cross over in the night.” She picked her way across the woodland floor, careful of her bare feet, until she reached her hung shirt and shook it out. “Dry enough,” she muttered, before pulling it over her head, hiding her nakedness from him.

With a sigh, Perrin clambered to his feet and went to get dressed. As he was pulling on his trousers, cold but not too damp thankfully, a low whistle made him glance at Anna in surprise. She was watching him while she buttoned her own trousers, watching and smirking. Despite what they had just done, or because of it perhaps, Perrin’s cheeks coloured.  _ If the Women’s Circle, or Nynaeve, or my mother ever find out about this I’ll be in for it. I could lose my apprenticeship even. And I’ll probably have to marry Anna _ . Though that last would actually be a pretty welcome “punishment” it seemed to him.

Perrin shrugged into his coat, pensive now. Actually, he should ask Anna to marry him, it was the proper thing to do at a time like this. But the thought made him nervous. He frowned as they gathered up their meagre belongings, thinking it through.

He had not seen a sign of his horse since riding over the bluff—he hoped it had swum out of the river safely—but he was more used to walking than riding anyway, and his boots were stout and well soled. They had nothing to eat, but his sling was still wrapped around his waist, and that or the snarelines in his pocket ought to yield a rabbit in a little time. And once they found what they’d need to put together some makeshift arrows for Anna’s bow they would be set for food. Everything for making a fire was gone with his saddlebags, but the cedar trees would yield tinder and a firebow with a bit of work.

The morning was cold and still when they left the copse. The cutting wind of the night before had faded to a silent breeze that barely rippled the surface of the Arindrelle. The river ran by, calm and empty. And wide.  _ Surely too wide and too deep for Trollocs to cross _ . The far bank appeared a solid mass of trees as far as he could see upriver and down. Nothing moved in his view over there.

He was not sure how he felt about that. Fades and Trollocs he could do without quite easily, even on the other side of the river, but a whole list of worries would have vanished with the appearance of the Aes Sedai, or the Warder, or, even better, any of his friends.  _ If wishes were wings, sheep would fly _ . That was what Mistress Luhhan always said.

His stomach rumbled again. But food would have to wait. One thing at a time, and the most important first. That was his way.

His eyes followed the strong flow of the Arindrelle downriver. He was a stronger swimmer than Egwene. If she, or any of the others, had made it across ... No, not if. The place where Egwene had made it across would be downriver.

Anna was looking upriver and he knew she was thinking of Rand. If he had swam the river he would have reached the bank faster than either of them. Long legs, long arms and stamina to burn would have seen to that. Lan would likely have made it even faster.

She and Perrin exchanged a long stare.

“We know Egwene went into the water,” Anna said at last. “We should probably look for her first. The others might still be on the other side of the river, or halfway to Tear for all we know.”

Perrin nodded slowly. He knew Egwene and Anna were not friends, but he was glad they would still look out for each other.  _ Good Theren women _ , he thought with a smile.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

Anna’s face was a picture. She blushed, smiled and grimaced all at the same time.

“Are you asking because you want to or because it’s the proper and traditional thing to say? Actually don’t answer.” She sighed. “I like you Perrin. A lot. I think I might even love you. And I don’t doubt you’ll make some woman a great husband someday. But I’m not sure I want to get married right now. Could we have this conversation again some other time?”

Relief and disappointment warred in Perrin’s heart. “As you wish.”

Their decision made, and in need of something to do with himself, he set off down the river.

This side of the Arindrelle lacked the thick forest of the east bank. Clumps of trees spotted across what would be grassland if spring ever came. Some were big enough to be called thickets, with swathes of evergreens among the barren ash and alder and hardgum. Down by the river the stands were smaller and not so tight. They gave poor cover, but they were all the cover there was.

He dashed from growth to growth in a crouch, throwing himself down when he was among the trees to study the riverbanks, the far side as well as his. The Warder said the river would be a barrier to Fades and Trollocs, but would it? Seeing him might be enough to overcome their reluctance to cross deep water. So he watched carefully from behind the trees and ran from one hiding place to the next, fast and low.

He covered several miles that way, in spurts, until suddenly, halfway to the beckoning shelter of a growth of willows, he grunted and stopped dead, staring at the ground. Patches of bare earth spotted the matted brown of last year’s grass, and in the middle of one of those patches, right under his nose, was a clear hoofprint. A slow smile spread across his face. Some Trollocs had hooves, but he doubted if any wore horseshoes, especially horseshoes with the double crossbar Master Weyland added for strength.

Anna crouched beside him, she saw it just as he had. “Burn me, the old mare must have swam the whole river.”

Forgetting possible eyes on the other side of the river, he cast about for more tracks. The plaited carpet of dead grass did not take impressions well, but his sharp eyes found them anyway. The scanty trail led him straight away from the river to a dense stand of trees, thick with leatherleaf and cedar that made a wall against wind or prying eyes. The spreading branches of a lone hemlock towered in the middle of it all.

Still grinning, he pushed his way through the interwoven branches, not caring how much noise he made. Abruptly he stepped into a little clearing under the hemlock—and stopped. Behind a small fire, Egwene crouched, her face grim, with a thick branch held like a club and her back against Bela’s flank.

“I guess I should have called out,” he said with an abashed shrug.

Tossing her club down, she ran to throw her arms around him. “I thought you had drowned. Here, sit by the fire and warm yourself. You lost your horse, didn’t you?”

He let her push him to a place by the fire and rubbed his hands over the flames, grateful for the warmth.

Anna shouldered through the branches behind him. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive, Egwene. Have you seen any of the others?”

“Bela got me across,” Egwene said, patting the shaggy mare. “She headed away from the Trollocs and just towed me along.” She paused. “I haven’t seen anybody else though.”

She produced an oiled paper packet from her saddlebags and gave them some bread and cheese. The package had been so tightly wrapped that even after its dunking the food was dry.  _ Here you were worrying about her, and she’s done better than you did _ , he thought.

“Rand has to be all right,” Egwene said, quickly adding, “they all do. They have to. They’re probably looking for us right now. They might find us anytime now. Moiraine is an Aes Sedai, after all.”

“I keep being reminded of that,” he said as he chewed. “Burn me, I wish I could forget.”

“I did not hear you complaining when she stopped the Trollocs from catching us,” Egwene said tartly. “And don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Anna sat on a thick tree root, eating her food. Perrin saw her give a small shake of her head. “Didn’t notice you complaining when she was threatening to kill the three boys either,” she muttered.

Egwene either didn’t hear or chose not to respond.

“I just wish we could do without her.” He shrugged uncomfortably under her steady gaze. “I suppose we can’t, though. I’ve been thinking.” Her eyebrows rose, but he was used to surprise whenever he claimed an idea. Even when his ideas were as good as theirs, they always remembered how deliberate he was in thinking of them. “We can wait for Lan and Moiraine to find us.”

“Of course,” she cut in. “Moiraine Sedai said she would find us if we were separated.”

He let her finish, then went on. “Or the Trollocs could find us, first. Moiraine could be dead, too. All of them could be. No, Egwene. I’m sorry, but they could be. I hope they are all safe. I hope they’ll walk up to this fire any minute. But hope is like a piece of string when you’re drowning; it just isn’t enough to get you out by itself.”

Egwene closed her mouth and stared at him with her jaw set. Finally, she said, “You want to go downriver to Whitebridge? If Moiraine Sedai doesn’t find us here, that’s where she will look next.”

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “that Whitebridge is where we should go. But the Fades probably know that, too. That’s where they’ll be looking, and this time we don’t have an Aes Sedai or a Warder to protect us.”

“I suppose you’re going to suggest running off somewhere, the way Mat wanted to? Hiding somewhere the Fades and Trollocs won’t find us? Or Moiraine Sedai, either?”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” he said quietly. “But every time we think we are free, Fades and Trollocs find us again. I don’t know if there is anyplace we could hide from them. I don’t like it much, but we need Moiraine.”

“I don’t understand then, Perrin. Where do we go?”

He blinked in surprise. She was waiting for his answer. Waiting for him to tell her what to do. It had never occurred to him that she would look to him to take the lead. Egwene never liked doing what someone else had planned out, and she never let anybody tell her what to do. Except maybe the Wisdom, and he thought sometimes she balked at that. He smoothed the dirt in front of him with his hand and cleared his throat roughly.

“If this is where we are now, and that is Whitebridge,” he stabbed the ground twice with his finger, “then Caemlyn should be somewhere around here.” He made a third mark, off to the side.

He paused, looking at the three dots in the dirt. His entire plan was based on what he remembered of her mother’s old map. Mistress al’Vere said it was not too accurate, and, anyway, he had never mooned over it as much as Rand and Mat. But Egwene said nothing. When he looked up, she was still watching him with her hands in her lap.

“Caemlyn?” She sounded stunned.

“Caemlyn.” He drew a line in the dirt between two of the dots. “Away from the river, and straight across. Nobody would expect that. We’ll wait for them in Caemlyn.” He dusted his hands and waited. He thought it was a good plan, but surely she would have objections now. He expected she would take charge—she was always bullying him into something—and that was all right with him. To his surprise, she nodded. “There must be villages. We can ask directions.”

“What worries me,” Perrin said, “is what we do if the Aes Sedai doesn’t find us there. Light, who’d ever have thought I’d worry about something like that? What if she doesn’t come to Caemlyn? Maybe she thinks we’re dead. Maybe she’ll take Rand and Mat straight to Tar Valon.”

“Moiraine Sedai said she could find us,” Egwene said firmly. “If she can find us here, she can find us in Caemlyn, and she will.”

Perrin nodded slowly. “If you say so, but if she doesn’t appear in Caemlyn in a few days, we go on to Tar Valon and put our case before the Amyrlin Seat.” He took a deep breath.  _ Two weeks ago you’d never even seen an Aes Sedai, and now you’re talking about the Amyrlin Seat. Light _ .

“According to Lan, there’s a good road from Caemlyn.” He looked at the oiled paper packet beside Egwene and cleared his throat. “What chance of a little more bread and cheese?”

“This might have to last a long time,” she said, “unless you have better luck with snares than I did last night. At least the fire was easy.” She laughed softly as if she had made a joke, tucking the packet back into her saddlebags.

Apparently there were limits to how much leadership she was willing to accept. His stomach rumbled. “In that case,” he said, standing, “we might as well start now.”


	10. Wolfbrother

CHAPTER 26: Wolfbrother

From the start Perrin knew the journey to Caemlyn was going to be far from comfortable, beginning with Egwene’s insistence that they take turns riding Bela. They did not know how far it was, she said, but it was too far for her to be the only one who rode. Her jaw firmed, and her eyes stared at him unblinking.

“I’m too big to ride Bela,” he said. “I’m used to walking, and I’d rather.”

“And I am not used to walking?” Egwene said sharply.

“That isn’t what I—”

“I’m the only one who’s supposed to get saddlesore, is that it? And when you walk till your feet are ready to fall off, you’ll expect me to look after you.”

“Let it be,” he breathed when she looked like going on. “Anyway, you’ll take the first turn.” Her face turned even more stubborn, but he refused to let her get a word in edgewise. “If you won’t get in the saddle by yourself, I’ll put you there.”

She gave him a startled look, and a small smile curved her lips. “In that case ...” She sounded as if she were about to laugh, but she climbed up.

He grumbled to himself as he turned away from the river. Leaders in stories never had to put up with this sort of thing.

Egwene did insist on him taking his turns, and whenever he tried to avoid it, she bullied him into the saddle. Blacksmithing did not lend itself to a slender build, and Bela was not very large as horses went. Every time he put his foot in the stirrup the shaggy mare looked at him with what he was sure was reproach. Small things, perhaps, but they irritated. Soon he flinched whenever Egwene announced, “It’s your turn, Perrin.”

In stories leaders seldom flinched, and they were never bullied. But, he reflected, they never had to deal with Egwene, either.

There were only short rations of bread and cheese to begin with, and what there was gave out by the end of the first day. Anna and Perrin set snares along likely rabbit runs—they looked old, but it was worth a chance—while Egwene began laying a fire. When he was done, he decided to try his hand with his sling before the light failed altogether. They had not seen a sign of anything at all alive, but ... To his surprise, he jumped a scrawny rabbit almost at once. He was so surprised when it burst from under a bush right beneath his feet that it almost got away, but he fetched it at forty paces, just as it was darting around a tree.

He met Anna on his way back to camp with the rabbit. She hadn’t been as lucky as him, but she did have an armful of chickweed to supplement their supper. She complimented him on his hunting as they fell in together companionably.

Back at camp Egwene had broken limbs all laid for the fire, but she was kneeling beside the pile with her eyes closed. “What are you doing? You can’t wish a fire,” Perrin said.

Egwene gave a jump at his first words, and twisted around to stare at him with a hand to her throat. “You ... you startled me.”

“I was lucky,” he said, holding up the rabbit. “Get your flint and steel. We’ll eat well tonight, at least.”

“I don’t have a flint,” she said slowly. “It was in my pocket, and I lost it in the river.”

“Then how ...?”

“It was so easy back there on the riverbank, Perrin. Just the way Moiraine Sedai showed me. I just reached out, and ...” She gestured as if grasping for something, then let her hand fall with a sigh. “I can’t find it, now.”

Perrin licked his lips uneasily. “The ... the Power?” She nodded, and he stared at her.

“Are you crazy?” blurted Anna. “I mean ... the One Power! You can’t just play around with something like that.”

“It was so easy. I can do it. I can channel the Power.” She had an awed look on her face, and she sounded as though she had just woke from a good dream.

Perrin took a deep breath. “I’ll make a firebow, Egwene. Promise you won’t try this ... this ... thing again.”

“I will not.” Her jaw firmed in a way that made him sigh. “Would you give up that axe of yours, Perrin Aybara? Would you walk around with one hand tied behind your back? I won’t do it!”

“I’ll make the firebow,” he said wearily. “At least, don’t try it again tonight? Please?”

Anna crossed her arms and eyed Egwene with a new wariness. “Not where you might kill the rest of us by accident, at the  _ very _ least,” she added.

Egwene acquiesced grudgingly, and even after the rabbit was roasting on a spit over the flames, he had the feeling she felt she could have done it better. She wouldn’t give up trying, either, every night, though the best she ever did was a trickle of smoke that vanished almost immediately. Her eyes dared them to say a word, and he wisely kept his mouth shut. Anna was not so wise and soon the two girls were avoiding looking at, or speaking to, each other altogether. It made the journey less than pleasant for Perrin, who was left trying futilely to make peace.

After that one hot meal, they subsisted on coarse wild tubers and a few young shoots. With still no sign of spring, none of it was plentiful, and none of it tasty, either. A find of mushrooms—Queen’s Crowns, the best—one afternoon in a shady part of the forest was enough to seem a great treat. They gobbled them down, laughing and telling stories from back in Emond’s Field, stories that began, “Do you remember when—” but the mushrooms did not last long, and neither did the laughter. There was little mirth in hunger.

Whichever of Perrin or Anna was walking carried the sling, ready to let fly at the sight of a rabbit or squirrel, but the only time either hurled a stone was in frustration. The snares they set so carefully each evening yielded nothing at dawn, and they did not dare stay a day in one place to leave the snares out. Anna had gathered some likely looking shafts for arrows, and sharpened points as best she could, but without feathers they were of little use. Pine resin they had found with little difficulty, but no matter how carefully she eyed each tree they passed, no bird nest presented itself.

None of them knew how far it was to Caemlyn, and neither would feel safe until they got there, if then. Perrin began to wonder if his stomach could shrink enough to make a hole all the way through his middle.

They made good time, as he saw it, but as they got farther and farther from the Arindrelle without seeing a village, or even a farmhouse where they could ask directions, his doubts about his own plan grew. Egwene continued to appear outwardly as confident as when they set out, but he was sure that sooner or later she would say it would have been better to risk the Trollocs than to wander around lost for the rest of their lives. She never did, but he kept expecting it.

Once the remains of tall stone ramparts encircled a hilltop. Parts of roofless stone houses stood inside the fallen circle. The forest had long swallowed it; trees grew right through everything, and spiderwebs of old creeper enveloped the big stone blocks. Another time they came on a stone tower, broken-topped and brown with old moss, leaning on the huge oak whose thick roots were slowly toppling it. But they found no place where men had breathed in living remembrance.

Memories of Shadar Logoth made them wary of the ruins but Anna spotted a quail’s nest atop the broken tower and insisted on climbing up to it. She returned with a handful of feathers and a relieved grin on her face. Welcome as the find was, they still hurried their footsteps until they were once more deep in places that seemed never to have known a human footstep.

That evening she melted the pine resin and used it to fletch three arrows. It was crude work compared to what Buel Dowtry, the fletcher back in Emond’s Field, would have done, but it was enough to promise a good meal the next time they sighted prey, and protection should they sight anything worse.

Dreams plagued Perrin’s sleep, fearful dreams. Ba’alzamon was in them, chasing him through mazes, hunting him, but Perrin never met him face-to-face, so far as he remembered. And their journey had been enough to bring a few bad dreams. Egwene complained of nightmares about Shadar Logoth especially the two nights after they found the ruined fort and the abandoned tower. Perrin kept his own counsel even when he woke sweating and shaking in the dark.

He was walking at Bela’s head, wondering if they would find anything to eat this evening, when he first caught the smell. The mare flared her nostrils and swung her head in the next moment. He seized her bridle before she could whicker.

“That’s smoke,” Egwene said excitedly. She leaned forward in the saddle, drew a deep breath. “A cookfire. Somebody is roasting dinner. Rabbit.”

“Maybe,” Perrin said cautiously, and her eager smile faded. He exchanged his sling for the wicked half-moon of the axe. His hands opened and closed uncertainly on the thick haft. It was a weapon, but neither his hidden practice behind the forge nor Lan’s teachings had really prepared him to use it as one. Even the battle before Shadar Logoth was too vague in his mind to give him any confidence. He could never quite manage that void that Rand and the Warder talked about, either.

“I’ll move around north,” Anna’s voice was pitched to not carry, “and cover you. Give me a minute or so before you do anything.”

“It could be dangerous,” Perrin said, alarmed. “Stay here and I’ll have a look first.”

She moved off without bothering to respond, one of her makeshift arrows already nocked.

Perrin watched her pick her careful and quiet way through the trees, shifting his feet indecisively. Sunlight slanted through the trees behind them, and the forest was a still mass of dappled shadows. The faint smell of woodsmoke drifted around them, tinged with the aroma of cooking meat.  _ It could be rabbit _ , he thought, and his stomach grumbled.  _ And it could be something else _ , he reminded himself.

“Wait here,” he said softly. Egwene frowned, but he cut her off as she opened her mouth. “And be quiet! We don’t know who it is, yet.” She nodded. Reluctantly, but she did it. Perrin wondered why that did not work when he was trying to make her take his turn riding. Drawing a deep breath, he started for the source of the smoke.

He had not spent as much time in the forests around Emond’s Field as Rand or Anna, but still he had done his share of hunting rabbits. He crept from tree to tree without so much as snapping a twig. It was not long before he was peering around the bole of a tall oak with spreading, serpentine limbs that bent to touch the ground. Beyond lay a campfire, where a lean, sun-browned man was leaning against one of the limbs not far from the flames.

At least he was not a Trolloc, but he was the strangest fellow Perrin had ever seen. For one thing, his clothes all seemed to be made from animal skins, with the fur still on, even his boots and the odd, flat-topped round cap on his head. His cloak was a crazy quilt of rabbit and squirrel; his trousers appeared to be made from the long-haired hide of a brown and white goat. Gathered at the back of his neck with a cord, his greying brown hair hung to his waist. A thick beard fanned across half his chest. A long knife hung at his belt, almost a sword, and a bow and quiver stood propped against a limb close to hand.

The man leaned back with his eyes closed, apparently asleep, but Perrin did not stir from his concealment. Six sticks slanted over the fellow’s fire, and on each stick a rabbit was skewered, roasted brown and now and then dripping juice that hissed in the flames. The smell of them, so close, made his mouth water.  _ How did he catch so many? _ Perrin wondered. He thought himself a decent hunter, and Anna a better one, but neither of them had found much game on their journey.

“You done drooling?” The man opened one eye and cocked it at Perrin’s hiding place. “You and your friends might as well sit and have a bite. I haven’t seen you eat much the last couple of days.”

Perrin hesitated, then stood slowly, still gripping his axe tightly. “You’ve been watching me for two days?”

The man chuckled deep in his throat. “Yes, I been watching you. And those pretty girls. The long-haired one pushes you around like a bantam rooster, doesn’t she? Heard you, mostly. The horse is the only one of you doesn’t trample around loud enough to be heard five miles off. You going to ask them in, or are you intending to eat all the rabbits yourself?”

Perrin bristled; he knew he did not make much noise. You could not get close enough to a rabbit in the Westwood to fetch it with a sling if you made noise. But the smell of rabbit made him remember that Egwene was hungry, too, not to mention waiting to discover if it was a Trolloc fire they had smelled.

He slipped the haft of his axe through the belt loop and raised his voice. “Egwene! It’s all right! It is rabbit!”

He wondered if he should say something about Anna, too. But the rigours of the past weeks had doused some of his courtesy and left wariness in its place. Perrin wasn’t sure he liked that.

Offering his hand, he added in a more normal tone, “My name is Perrin. Perrin Aybara.”

The man considered his hand before taking it awkwardly, as if unused to shaking hands. “I’m called Elyas,” he said, looking up. “Elyas Machera.”

Perrin gasped, and nearly dropped Elyas’ hand. The man’s eyes were yellow, like bright, polished gold. Some memory tickled at the back of Perrin’s mind, then fled. All he could think of right then was that all of the Trollocs’ eyes he had seen had been almost black.

Egwene appeared, cautiously leading Bela. She tied the mare’s reins to one of the smaller branches of the oak, and made polite sounds when Perrin introduced her to Elyas, but her eyes kept drifting to the rabbits. She did not seem to notice the man’s eyes. When Elyas motioned them to the food, she fell to with a will. Perrin hesitated only a minute longer before joining her.

Elyas waited silently while they ate. Perrin was so hungry he tore off pieces of meat so hot he had to juggle them from hand to hand before he could hold them in his mouth. Even Egwene showed little of her usual neatness; greasy juice ran down her chin.

“Do you mind if I save one of these for later,” Perrin asked casually. “It might be a long journey, best to ration it.”

Elyas’ yellow eyes drifted towards his. “For your friend with the bow? Sure, she looks hungry.” Perrin grimaced. So much for his clever deception.

There came a commotion from the trees to the north. A woman’s gasp, an angry voice saying something he couldn’t quite make out. And a distinct snarl. Perrin surged to his feet. But Elyas was already moving. He shot a glare at the stranger, hand gripping the haft of his still-slung axe, but it wasn’t towards Perrin the man loped.

“Raine!” he barked. “We aren’t foes here. Not rivals! Don’t do anything foolish. Come to the fire. Come!”

“What’s going on?” Egwene demanded, with a slight quaver to her voice.

They found out soon enough, when a scowling Anna emerged from the trees with her bow, the string of which had been cut, in hand. She switched between looking hungrily towards the cooked rabbits and glaring over her shoulder. Whatever she was looking back at left an appalled expression on her face.

When the new stranger prowled into view, Perrin’s own expression surely must have matched Anna’s. She was shorter than Egwene, only slightly taller than Anna. And she might have been younger than either, too, though it was hard to tell. It was hard to tell she was even a girl. A ragged and unwashed woollen shift only just reached her knees; the bare legs poking out of it were as skinny as the rest of her but corded with muscle. There were no less than three knife-sheathes attached to her belt, and one of the blades she now held pointed towards Anna’s back; the hand that gripped it tipped with long, cracked yellow nails. Her hair might have been as red as Rand’s, but it was cut so tight to her head that she almost seemed bald. And her eyes, brimming with bitter anger, were as yellow as Elyas’.

“Ambush. Hunted her. Took.” The newcomer had an accent similar to the folk of Baerlon, but harsher. Or perhaps that was just her. She stared unblinkingly at Anna as she spoke, and her lips peeled back from her teeth in what was definitely not a smile.

Elyas shook his head slightly. “There’s no need for that. Everything is under control.”

The man and the girl locked gazes for a moment. The girl yielded quickly, ducking her head and sticking out a small pink tongue. “First.”

Something about these two made Perrin’s skin crawl. And from the faint sneer on Egwene’s face as she looked at the red-haired girl, he suspected he wasn’t the only one.

Elyas turned his back on his companion and resumed his seat by the fire. “Are you hungry, archer? You can have some if you like.”

“Thanks,” Anna said gruffly. “That’s very friendly of you.” She shot another glance at the strange girl before setting on the rabbit with a will.

The other, Raine, Elyas had called her, knelt by the edge of the firelight, grim-faced. She seemed unconcerned by the touch of the woodland floor to her bare knees and made no effort to come closer to the fire, though surely she had to be cold, dressed like that out here. When Elyas pulled a rabbit from its skewer and tossed it to her she tore into the flesh hungrily. But she had waited without a word until then.

Day faded into twilight as they ate. Moonless darkness was closing in around the fire, when Elyas spoke. “What are you doing out here? There isn’t a house inside fifty miles in any direction.”

“We’re going to Caemlyn,” Egwene said. “Perhaps you could—” Her eyebrows lifted coolly as Elyas threw back his head and roared with laughter. Perrin stared at him, a rabbit leg half raised to his mouth.

“Caemlyn?” Elyas wheezed when he could talk again. “The path you’re following, the line you’ve taken the last two days, you’ll pass a hundred miles or more north of Caemlyn.”

“We were going to ask directions,” Egwene said defensively. “We just haven’t found any villages or farms, yet.”

“And none you will,” Elyas said, chuckling. “The way you’re going, you can travel all the way to Braem Wood without seeing another human. And beyond that lie the Oburun Mountains. You’d not find much welcome on the other side of those, if you managed to cross them,” He set off into another, more furious, burst of laughter, this time actually rolling on the ground. “Not much at all,” he managed.

Perrin shifted uneasily.  _ Are we eating with a madman? _

“Find what you deserve,” Raine muttered, so low he could barely hear her. “What we all do.”

Egwene frowned, but she waited until Elyas’ mirth faded a little, then said, “Perhaps you could show us the way. You seem to know a good deal more about where places are than we do.”

Elyas stopped laughing. Raising his head, he replaced his round fur cap, which had fallen off while he was rolling about, and stared at her from under lowered brows. “I don’t much like people,” he said in a flat voice. His eyes flickered towards his companion and Perrin had the feeling that even in the midst of his cackling Elyas had heard what she had said. Heard and misliked. “Cities are full of people. I don’t go near villages, or even farms, very often. Villagers, farmers, they don’t like my friends. I wouldn’t even have helped you if you hadn’t been stumbling around as helpless and innocent as newborn cubs.”

“But at least you can tell us which way to go,” Egwene insisted. “If you direct us to the nearest village, even if it’s fifty miles away, surely they’ll give us directions to Caemlyn.”

“Be still,” Elyas said. “My friends are coming.”

Bela suddenly whinnied in fear, and began jerking to pull her reins free. Perrin half rose as shapes appeared all around them in the darkening forest. Bela reared and twisted, screaming.

“Quiet the mare,” Elyas said. “They won’t hurt her. Or you, if you’re still.”

Anna sucked in a startled breath as four wolves stepped into the firelight; shaggy, waist-high forms with jaws that could break a man’s leg. As if the people were not there they walked up to the fire and lay down between the two strangers. In the darkness among the trees firelight reflected off the eyes of more wolves, on all sides.

_ Yellow eyes _ , Perrin thought.  _ Like Elyas’ eyes, and Raine’s, too _ . That was what he had been trying to remember. The strangers had the eyes of wolves. Carefully watching the wolves among them, he eased his hand toward his axe.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Elyas said. “If they think you mean harm, they’ll stop being friendly.” They were staring at him, those four wolves, Perrin saw. He had the feeling that all the wolves, those in the trees, as well, were staring at him. It made his skin itch. Cautiously he moved his hand away from the axe. He imagined he could feel the tension ease among the wolves. Slowly he sat back down; his hands shook until he gripped his knees to stop them. Anna was trying to watch every direction at once and Egwene was so stiff she almost quivered. One wolf, close to black with a lighter grey patch on his face, lay nearly touching her.

Oddly, the anger had faded from Raine’s face. She watched the reactions of the three travellers and seemed ashamed. One of the wolves lay right against her, warm fur pressing against her bare, and no doubt cold, leg. She bunched her hands in her shift as if to stop herself from touching the beast.

Bela had ceased her screaming and rearing. Instead she stood trembling and shifting in an attempt to keep all of the wolves in view, kicking occasionally to show the wolves that she could, intending to sell her life dearly. The wolves seemed to ignore her and everyone else. Tongues lolling out of their mouths, they waited at their ease.

“There,” Elyas said. “That’s better.”

“Are they tame?” Egwene asked faintly, and hopefully, too. “They’re ... pets?”

Elyas snorted. “Wolves don’t tame, girl, not even as well as men. They’re my friends. We keep each other company, hunt together, converse, after a fashion. Just like any friends. Isn’t that right, Dapple?” A wolf with fur that faded through a dozen shades of grey, dark and light, turned her head to look at him.

“You talk to them?” Perrin marvelled.

“It isn’t exactly talking,” Elyas replied slowly. “The words don’t matter, and they aren’t exactly right, either. Her name isn’t Dapple. It’s something that means the way shadows play on a forest pool at a midwinter dawn, with the breeze rippling the surface, and the tang of ice when the water touches the tongue, and a hint of snow before nightfall in the air. But that isn’t quite it, either. You can’t say it in words. It’s more of a feeling. That’s the way wolves talk. The others are Burn, Hopper, and Wind.” Burn had an old scar on his shoulder that might explain his name, but there was nothing about the other two wolves to give any indication of what their names might mean.

For all the man’s gruffness, Perrin thought Elyas was pleased to have the chance to talk to another human. He seemed eager enough to do it, at least. Perrin eyed the wolves’ teeth glistening in the firelight and thought it might be a good idea to keep him talking. “How ... how did you learn to talk to wolves, Elyas?”

“They found out,” Elyas replied, “I didn’t. Not at first. That’s always the way of it, I understand. The wolves find you, not you them. Some people thought me touched by the Dark One, because wolves started appearing wherever I went. I suppose I thought so, too, sometimes. Most decent folk began to avoid me, and the ones who sought me out weren’t the kind I wanted to know, one way or another.” They all hung on his words, even Raine had cocked her head to listen, though there was a bitter twist to her lips. “Then I noticed there were times when the wolves seemed to know what I was thinking, to respond to what was in my head. That was the real beginning. They were curious about me. Wolves can sense people, usually, but not like this. They were glad to find me. They say it’s been a long time since they hunted with men, and when they say a long time, the feeling I get is like a cold wind howling all the way down from the First Day.”

“I never heard of men hunting with wolves,” Egwene said. Her voice was not entirely steady, but the fact that the wolves were just lying there seemed to give her heart.

“Heard plenty of wolves hunting men though. And the other way around,” Anna breathed.

If Elyas heard them, he gave no sign. “Wolves remember things differently from the way people do,” he said. His strange eyes took on a faraway look, as if he were drifting off on the flow of memory himself. “Every wolf remembers the history of all wolves, or at least the shape of it. Like I said, it can’t be put into words very well. They remember running down prey side-by-side with men, but it was so long ago that it’s more like the shadow of a shadow than a memory.”

“That’s very interesting,” Egwene said, and Elyas looked at her sharply. “No, I mean it. It is.” She wet her lips. “Could ... ah ... could you teach us to talk to them?”

Elyas snorted again. “It can’t be taught. Some can do it; me, the girl, a few others that I know of. Maybe more that I don’t. Most can’t. They say he can.” He pointed at Perrin.

Perrin looked at Elyas’ finger as if it were a knife aimed at his heart.  _ He really is a madman _ . The wolves were staring at him again. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Run away big-shoulders,” Raine murmured, “don’t listen.”

Elyas scowled at her. “Quiet you. There’s no harm in it.”

Raine cringed alarmingly. “They’ll make you a monster,” she whined, “like me.” She rose to her feet and darted away into the twilight forest. Shockingly she wore no smallclothes and her sudden movement gave him a brief glimpse of the red fur between her legs, but Perrin was too preoccupied with the stares of the wolves to spare much thought for the girl.

Anna and Egwene were looking at him oddly. Perrin tried not to hunch his shoulders.

Elyas shook his head as he watched Raine run off. Then he turned back to the others and said. “You say you’re going to Caemlyn but that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing out here, days from anywhere.” He tossed back his fur-patch cloak and lay down on his side, propped on one elbow and waiting expectantly.

Perrin glanced at Egwene. Early on they had concocted a story for when they found people, to explain where they were going without bringing them any trouble. Without letting anyone know where they were really from, or where they were really going, eventually. Who knew what careless word might reach a Fade’s ear? They had worked on it every day, patching it together, honing out flaws. And they had decided Egwene was the one to tell it. She was better with words than Anna was, and she claimed she could always tell when Perrin was lying by his face.

Egwene began at once, smoothly. They were from the north, from Saldaea, from farms outside a tiny village. None of them had been more than twenty miles from home in their whole lives before this. But they had heard gleemen’s stories, and merchants’ tales, and they wanted to see some of the world. Caemlyn, and Illian. The Sea of Storms, and maybe even the fabled islands of the Sea Folk.

Perrin listened with satisfaction. Not even Thom Merrilin could have made a better tale from the little they knew of the world outside the Theren, or one better suited to their needs.

“From Saldaea, eh?” Elyas said when she was done.

Perrin nodded. “That’s right. We thought about seeing Maradon first. I’d surely like to see the Queen. But the capital city would be the first place our fathers would look.”

That was his part of it, to make it plain they had never been to Maradon. That way no-one would expect them to know anything about the city, just in case they ran into someone who really had been there. It was all a long way from Emond’s Field and the events of Winternight. Nobody hearing the tale would have any reason to think of Tar Valon, or Aes Sedai.

“Quite a story.” Elyas nodded. “Yes, quite a story. There’s a few things wrong with it, but the main thing is Dapple says it’s all a lump of lies. Every last word.”

“Lies!” Egwene exclaimed. “Why would we lie?”

The four wolves had not moved, but they no longer seemed to be just lying there around the fire; they crouched, instead, and their yellow eyes watched the Emond’s Fielders without blinking.

Perrin did not say anything, but his hand strayed to the axe at his waist. The four wolves rose to their feet in one quick movement, and his hand froze. They made no sound, but the thick hackles on their necks stood erect. One of the wolves back under the trees raised a growling howl into the night. Others answered, five, ten, twenty, till the darkness rippled with them. Abruptly they, too, were still. Anna shivered. Cold sweat trickled down Perrin’s face.

“If you think ...” Egwene stopped to swallow. Despite the chill in the air there was sweat on her face, too. “If you think we are lying, then you’ll probably prefer that we make our own camp for the night, away from yours.”

“Ordinarily I would, girl. But right now I want to know about the Trollocs. And the Halfmen. Perrin struggled to keep his face impassive, and hoped he was doing better at it than Egwene. Elyas went on in a conversational tone. “Dapple says she smelled Halfmen and Trollocs in your minds while you were telling that fool story. They all did. You’re mixed up with Trollocs, somehow, and the Eyeless. Wolves hate Trollocs and Halfmen worse than wildfire, worse than anything, and so do I.

“Burn wants to be done with you. It was Trollocs gave him that mark when he was a yearling. He says game is scarce, and you’re fatter than any deer he’s seen in months, and we should be done with you. But Burn is always impatient. Why don’t you tell me about it? I hope you’re not Darkfriends. I don’t like killing people after I’ve fed them. Just remember, they’ll know if you lie, and even Dapple is already near as upset as Burn.” His eyes, as yellow as the wolves’ eyes, blinked no more than theirs did.

Egwene was looking at him, he realized, waiting for him to decide what they should do.  _ Light, suddenly I’m the leader.  _ They had decided from the first that they could not risk telling the real story to anyone, but he saw no chance for them to get away even if he managed to get his axe out before—

Dapple growled deep in her throat, and the sound was taken up by the other three around the fire, then by the wolves in the darkness. The menacing rumble filled the night.

“All right,” Perrin said quickly. “All right!” The growling cut off, sharp and sudden. Egwene unclenched her hands and nodded. “It all started a few days before Winternight,” Perrin began, “when our friend Mat saw a man in a black cloak ...”

Elyas never changed his expression or the way he lay on his side, but there was something about the tilt of his head that spoke of ears pricking up. The four wolves sat down as Perrin went on; he had the impression they were listening, too. The story was a long one, and he told almost all of it. The dream he and the others had had in Baerlon, though, he kept to himself. He waited for the wolves to make some sign they had caught the omission, but they only watched. Dapple seemed friendly, Burn angry. He was hoarse by the time he finished.

“... and if she doesn’t find us in Caemlyn, we’ll go on to Tar Valon. We don’t have any choice except to get help from the Aes Sedai.”

“Trollocs and Halfmen this far south,” Elyas mused. “Now that’s something to consider.” He rooted behind him and tossed Perrin a hide waterbag, not really looking at him. He appeared to be thinking. He waited until Perrin had drunk and replaced the plug before he spoke again. “I don’t hold with Aes Sedai. The Red Ajah, those that like hunting for men who mess with the One Power, the wanted to Gentle me, once. I told them to their faces they were Black Ajah; served the Dark One, I said, and they didn’t like that at all. They couldn’t catch me, though, once I got into the forest, but they did try. Yes, they did. Come to that, I doubt any Aes Sedai would take kindly to me, after that. I had to kill a couple of Warders. Bad business, that, killing Warders. Don’t like it.”

“This talking to wolves,” Perrin said uneasily. “It ... it has to do with the Power?”

“Of course not,” Elyas growled. “Wouldn’t have worked on me, Gentling, but it made me mad, them wanting to try. This is an old thing, boy. Older than Aes Sedai. Older than anybody using the One Power. Old as humankind. Old as wolves. They don’t like that either, Aes Sedai. Old things coming again. I’m not the only one. There are other things, other folk. Makes Aes Sedai nervous makes them mutter about ancient barriers weakening. Things are breaking apart, they say. They’re afraid the Dark One will get loose, is what. You’d think I was to blame, the way some of them looked at me. Red Ajah, anyway, but some others, too. The Amyrlin Seat ... Aaaah! I keep clear of them mostly, and clear of friends of Aes Sedai, as well. You will, too, if you’re smart.”

“I’d like nothing better than to stay away from Aes Sedai,” Perrin said.

Egwene gave him a sharp look. He hoped she would not burst out that she wanted to be an Aes Sedai. But she said nothing, though her mouth tightened, and Perrin went on.

“It isn’t as if we have a choice. We’ve had Trollocs chasing us, and Fades, and Draghkar. Everything but Darkfriends. We can’t hide, and we can’t fight back alone. So who is going to help us? Who else is strong enough, except Aes Sedai?”

Elyas was silent for a time, looking at the wolves, most often at Dapple or Burn. Perrin shifted nervously and tried not to watch. When he watched he had the feeling that he could almost hear what Elyas and the wolves were saying to one another. Even if it had nothing to do with the Power, he wanted no part of it.  _ He had to be making some crazy joke. I can’t talk to wolves _ . One of the wolves—Hopper, he thought—looked at him and seemed to grin. He wondered how he had put a name to him.

“You could stay with me,” Elyas said finally. “With us.” Egwene’s eyebrows shot up and Anna shot an alarmed look Perrin’s way. “Well, what could be safer?” Elyas challenged. “Trollocs will take any chance they get to kill a wolf by itself, but they’ll go miles out of their way to avoid a pack. And you won’t have to worry about Aes Sedai, either. They don’t often come into these woods.”

“I don’t know.” Perrin avoided looking at the wolves to either side of him. One was Dapple, and he could feel her eyes on him. “For one thing, it isn’t just the Trollocs.”

Elyas chuckled coldly. “I’ve seen a pack pull down one of the Eyeless, too. Lost half the pack but they wouldn’t give up once they had its scent. Trollocs, Myrddraal, it’s all one to the wolves. It’s you they really want, boy. They’ve heard of humans who can talk to wolves, but you’re the first they’ve ever met besides me and Raine. And she’s not very friendly. They’ll accept your women, too, though, and you’ll all be safer here than in any city. There’s Darkfriends in cities.”

Even in the midst of all the mad talk of people talking to wolves, Egwene and Anna still found time to bristle at being called Perrin’s women. Though at least Anna sent her scowl the speaker’s way rather than Perrin’s.

“Listen,” he said urgently, “I wish you’d stop saying that. I can’t—do that ... what you do, what you’re saying.”

Even through his long beard Perrin could see Elyas’ mouth thin. “As you wish, boy. Play the goat, if you’ve a mind to. Don’t you want to be safe?”

“I’m not deceiving myself. There’s nothing to deceive myself about. All we want—”

“We are going to Caemlyn,” Egwene spoke up firmly. “And then to Tar Valon.”

Closing his mouth, Perrin met her angry look with one of his own. He knew that she followed his lead when she wanted to and not when she did not, but she could at least let him answer for himself. “What about you, Perrin?” he said, and answered himself. “Me? Well, let me think. Yes. Yes, I think I’ll go on.” He turned a mild smile on her. “Well, Egwene, that makes both of us. I guess I’m going with you, at that. Good to talk these things out before making a decision, isn’t it?” She blushed, but the set of her jaw never lessened.

“Not now, you two,” Anna whispered.

Elyas grunted. “Dapple said that’s what you’d decide. She said the girls are planted firmly in the human world, while you”—he nodded at Perrin—“stand halfway between. Under the circumstances, I suppose we’d better go south with you. Otherwise, you’ll probably starve to death, or get lost, or—”

Abruptly Burn stood up, and Elyas turned his head to regard the big wolf. After a moment Dapple rose, too. She moved closer to Elyas, so that she also was meeting Burn’s stare. The tableau was frozen for long minutes, then Burn whirled and vanished into the night. Dapple shook herself, then resumed her place, flopping down as if nothing had happened.

Elyas met Perrin’s questioning eyes. “Dapple runs this pack,” he explained. “Some of the males could best her if they challenged, but she’s smarter than any of them, and they all know it. She’s saved the pack more than once. But Burn thinks the pack is wasting time with you three. Hating Trollocs is about all there is to him, and if there are Trollocs this far south he wants to be off killing them.”

“We quite understand,” Egwene said, sounding relieved. “We really can find our own way ... with some directions, of course, if you’ll give them.”

Elyas waved a hand. “I said Dapple leads this pack, didn’t I? In the morning, I’ll start south with you, and so will they.” Egwene looked as if that was not the best news she could have heard.

Perrin sat wrapped in his own silence. He could feel Burn leaving. And the scarred male was not the only one; a dozen others, all young males, loped after him. He wanted to believe it was all Elyas playing on his imagination, but he could not. Just before the departing wolves faded from his mind, he felt a thought he knew came from Burn, as sharp and clear as if it were his own thought. Hatred. Hatred and the taste of blood.


	11. Whitebridge

CHAPTER 27: Whitebridge

The last unsteady note of what had been barely recognizable as “The Wind That Shakes the Willow” faded mercifully away, and Mat lowered Thom’s gold-and-silver-chased flute. Rand took his hands from his ears. For a moment the only sounds were the water slapping against the hull of their old boat and the distant howling of the wind.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Thom Merrilin muttered finally, “for teaching me how true the old saying is. Teach him how you will, a pig will never play the flute.” Mat raised the flute as if to throw it at him. Deftly, Thom snagged the instrument from Mat’s fist and fitted it into its hard leather case. “I thought all you shepherds whiled away the time with the flock playing the pipes or the flute. That will show me to trust what I don’t know firsthand.”

“Rand’s the shepherd,” Mat grumbled. “He plays the pipes, not me.”

“Yes, well, he does have a little aptitude. Perhaps we had better work on juggling, boy. At least you show some talent for that.”

“Thom,” Rand said from his seat at the prow. Thom had told him that’s what you called it. “I don’t know why you’re trying so hard. After all, we aren’t really trying to become gleemen. It’s only something to hide behind once we get to Whitebridge. Until we find Moiraine and the others.”

Thom tugged at an end of his moustache and seemed to be studying the smooth, dark brown leather of the flute case on his knees. “What if you don’t find them, boy? There’s nothing to say they’re even still alive.”

“They’re alive,” Rand said firmly. He turned to Mat for support, but Mat’s eyebrows were pinched down on his nose; his mouth was a thin line, and his eyes were fixed on the deck. “Well, speak up,” Rand told him. “You can’t be that mad over not being able to play the flute. I can’t either, not very well. You never wanted to play the flute before.”

Mat looked up, still frowning. “What if they are dead?” he said softly. “We have to accept facts, right?”

For a long minute, unwilling to believe that Mat could say something like that so casually, Rand held his friend’s gaze. Mat glowered at him with his head pulled down between his shoulders. There was so much Rand wanted to say, but he could not manage to get it all into words. They had to believe the others were alive. They had to.  _ Why? _ nagged a voice in the back of his head.  _ So it will all turn out like one of Thom’s stories? The heroes find the treasure and defeat the villain and live happily ever after? This isn’t a story. And if it was, some of them end badly, even for the heroes. And you, Rand al’Thor, sheepherder, are definitely not a hero. _

“Whitebridge ahead!” cried Thom.

Abruptly Mat flushed and pulled his eyes away. Freed from his thoughts, Rand turned to see what Thom had spotted.

It came into sight as they rounded a slight bend of the Arindrelle. He had heard of it, in song and story and peddlers’ tales, but now he was actually seeing the legend.

The White Bridge arched high over the wide waters, twice as high as the masts of the ships that lined the wooden docks to its north and south. From end to end it gleamed milky white in the sunlight, whatever strange substance it was made from gathering the light until it seemed to glow. Spidery piers of the same stuff plunged into the strong currents, appearing too frail to support the weight and width of the bridge. It looked all of one piece, as if it had been carved from a single stone or moulded by a giant’s hand, broad and tall, leaping the river with an airy grace that almost made the eye forget its size. All in all it dwarfed the town that sprawled about its foot on the west bank, though Whitebridge was larger by far than Emond’s Field, with houses of stone and brick as tall as those in Taren Ferry. Small boats, similar to their own, dotted the Arindrelle thickly, fishermen hauling their nets. Over it all the White Bridge towered and shone.

“It looks like glass,” Rand said to no-one in particular.

Behind him he heard Thom speak. “Whatever it is, it isn’t glass. It never grows slippery, no matter how thick the rain falls, and the best chisel wielded by the strongest arm cannot make a mark on it. A remnant from the Age of Legends, I have no doubt.”

Rand stared even more wonderingly. From the Age of Legends. Made by Aes Sedai, then. For an instant it seemed to Rand that a shadow rippled through the milk-white structure. He pulled his eyes away, to the docks coming nearer, but the bridge still loomed in the corner of his vision.

“We made it, Thom,” he said with a laugh.

The gleeman only harrumphed and blew out his moustaches. “Not yet we haven’t.” He pointed to the oars. “Put that back of yours to work. And try to reach the docks before we drift right by. Without smashing us against them, mind. Then we’ll have made it.”

Rand and Mat swapped places, Mat scowling, perhaps at not being trusted to work the oars. But so far as Rand was concerned he had only himself to blame, what with the attitude he had been showing lately. Settling in, he unshipped the oars and began to row them to shore, just like Thom had taught him. It still struck him as strange that he should sit with his back to where he wanted to go, but he trusted that Thom knew best about such things. The gleeman kept a sharp eye on the river ahead and called out instructions, which Rand moved hastily to obey.

While Rand struggled to slow their speed, Thom called for Mat to get the rope ready. It had a large noose tied in it, Rand knew, though he could not see it just then. He simply had to trust Mat to make the throw. He had always been good at throwing things. Rand’s muscles burned as he fought against the river’s current.

“Got it!” Mat crowed, and a moment later the boat shook with an alarming thump. Rand’s teeth chattered painfully.

Thom released his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the hull and let out a pent breath. “Passable,” he allowed. He fastened a second rope to a thick wooden stump, then crab-walked his way along the boat, tossing their belongings up onto the rough wood of the dock.

Rand was the last to clamber up. The boat swayed almost familiarly under his feet as he reached over and hauled himself up onto the dock. But as much as he had gotten used to the rolling of the little boat during their days on the river, the solidity of the dock under his knees was still a welcome relief.

He buckled Tam’s sword about his waist as he took in his first good look at Whitebridge town. A fisherman sat on a pile of coiled rope nearby, arranging a little box full of hooks and worms to his liking. He eyed the newcomers quizzically and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Thom’s patched gleeman’s cloak, but said nothing. A Therener would have had a great deal to say if a gleeman had washed up on the shore of the Taren or the White Knife. Not this Whitebridge man though.

He hung his quiver from his belt, slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and picked up Jorge al’Tolan’s old bow. Sending a silent prayer that Anna and the others had made it safely away from Shadar Logoth, Rand set off down the dock. He nodded politely to the fisherman as he passed but the man didn’t meet his eye. Mat and Thom’s boots made a loud drumming on the wood when they finished arranging their own belongings and followed.

There were half a dozen or more carriages arrayed nearby, between the river and the town proper, tall and lacquered shiny black, each one with a name painted on the door in large letters, gold or scarlet. The carriages’ passengers hastened back and forth between the riverboats tied up on the docks, smooth-faced men and women in long velvet coats, or dresses as fine as Moiraine’s, with silk-lined cloaks and cloth slippers. Each of them was followed by a plainly dressed servant carrying an iron-bound moneybox, and at least one heavy-shoulder man, frowning forbiddingly at anyone near.

Mat grunted when he saw them. “Merchants, and a lot richer than the ones who come to the Theren at shearing season,” he said. One fleshy, dark-haired fellow paused in his meandering walk to peer at Rand and his companions. But they had nothing to sell him and surely didn’t look rich enough to buy whatever wares he had to peddle. Rand nodded to him from afar and the man smiled back.  _ Not all Whitebridge folk are unfriendly _ , he told himself.

Aside from the merchants there were not a great many people on the dock, and those were a plainly dressed mix of workmen, fishermen mending nets, and a few townspeople about their errands. No-one looked the least bit like Moiraine, or Lan, or anyone else Rand was hoping to see.

“Maybe they didn’t come down to the dock,” he said.

“Maybe,” Thom replied curtly. He settled his instrument cases on his back with care. “You two keep your heads down. We want to pass through Whitebridge so softly that nobody remembers we were here five minutes after we’re gone.”

Their cloaks flapped in the wind as they walked. Mat carried his bow crossed in front on his chest. It, and Rand’s, got a few looks from the townsfolk, but most were too busy watching Thom.

A murmur passed through the people on the dock as they saw the gleeman’s patch-covered cloak, and some called out to discover where he would be performing. By sundown it would be all over Whitebridge that there was a gleeman in town. Thom did not even slow down enough to preen under the attention.

The carriage drivers looked down at Thom with interest from their high perches, but apparently the dignity of their positions forbade shouting.

With no idea of where to go exactly, Rand turned up the street that ran along the river and under the bridge. “We need to find Moiraine and the others,” he said.

Thom suddenly shook himself and stopped dead. “An innkeeper will be able to tell us if they’re here, or if they’ve passed through. The right innkeeper. Innkeepers have all the news and gossip. If they aren’t here ...” He looked back and forth from Rand to Mat. “We have to talk, we three.” Cloak swirling around his ankles, he set off into the town, away from the river. Rand and Mat had to step quickly to keep up.

The broad, milk-white arch that gave the town its name dominated Whitebridge as much close up as it did from afar, but once Rand was in the streets he realized that the town was every bit as big as Baerlon, though not so crowded with people. A few carts moved in the streets, pulled by horse or ox or donkey or man, but no carriages. Those most likely all belonged to the merchants and were clustered down at the dock.

Shops of every description lined the streets, and many of the tradesmen worked in front of their establishments, under the signs swinging in the wind. They passed a man mending pots, and a tailor holding folds of cloth up to the light for a customer. A shoemaker, sitting in his doorway, tapped his hammer on the heel of a boot. Hawkers cried their services at sharpening knives and scissors, or tried to interest the passersby in their skimpy trays of fruit or vegetables, but none was getting much interest. Shops selling food had the same pitiful displays of produce Rand remembered from Baerlon. Even the fishmongers displayed only meagre piles of small fish, for all the boats on the river. Times were not really hard yet, but everyone could see what was coming if the weather did not change soon, and those faces that were not fixed into worried frowns seemed to stare at something unseen, something unpleasant.

Where the White Bridge came down in the centre of the town was a big square, paved with stones worn by generations of feet and wagon wheels. Inns surrounded the square, and shops, and tall, red brick houses with signs out front bearing the same names Rand had seen on the carriages at the dock. It was into one of those inns, seemingly chosen at random, that Thom ducked. The sign over the door, swinging in the wind, had a striding man with a bundle on his back on one side and the same man with his head on a pillow on the other, and proclaimed The Wayfarer’s Rest.

The common room stood empty except for the fat innkeeper drawing ale from a barrel and two men in rough workman’s clothes staring glumly into their mugs at a table in the back. Only the innkeeper looked up when they came in. A shoulder-high wall split the room in two from front to back, with tables and a blazing fireplace on each side.

Rubbing his hands together briskly, Thom commented to the innkeeper on the late cold and ordered hot spiced wine, then added quietly, “Is there somewhere my friends and I could talk without being disturbed?”

The innkeeper nodded to the low wall. “The other side that’s as best I’ve got unless you want to take a room. For when sailors come up from the river. Seems like half the crews got grudges against the other half. I won’t have my place broke up by fights, so I keep them apart.” She had been eyeing Thom’s cloak the whole while, and now she cocked her head to one side, a sly look in her eyes. “You staying? Haven’t had a gleeman here in some time. Folks would pay real good for something as would take their minds off things. I’d even take some off on your room and meals.”

“You are too generous,” Thom said with a smooth bow. “Perhaps my apprentices and I will take up your offer. But for now, a little privacy.”

“I’ll bring your wine. Good money here for a gleeman.”

The tables on the far side of the wall were all empty, but Thom chose one right in the middle of the space. “So no-one can listen without us knowing,” he explained. “Did you hear that woman? She’ll take some off. Why, I’d double her custom just by sitting here. Any honest innkeeper gives a gleeman room and board and a good bit besides.”

The bare table was none too clean, and the floor had not been swept in days if not weeks. Rand looked around and grimaced. Mistress al’Vere would not have let her inn get that dirty if she had had to climb out of a sickbed to see to it. “We’re only after information. Remember?”

“Why here?” Mat demanded. “We passed other inns that looked cleaner.”

“Straight on from the bridge,” Thom said, “is the road to Caemlyn. Anyone passing through Whitebridge comes through this square, unless they’re going by river, and we know your friends aren’t doing that. If there is no word of them here, it doesn’t exist. Let me do the talking. This has to be done carefully.”

Just then the innkeeper appeared, three battered pewter mugs gripped in one fist by the handles. The fat woman flicked at the table with a towel, set the mugs down, and took Thom’s money. “If you stay, you won’t have to pay for your drinks. Good wine, here.”

Thom’s smile touched only his mouth. “I will think on it, innkeeper. What news is there? We have been away from hearing things.”

“Big news, that’s what. Big news.”

The innkeeper draped the towel over her shoulder and pulled up a chair. She crossed her arms on the table, took root with a long sigh, saying what a comfort it was to get off her feet. Her name was Barta, and she went on about her feet in detail, about corns and bunions and how much time she spent standing and what she soaked them in, until Thom mentioned the news, again, and then she shifted over with hardly a pause.

The news was just as big as she said it was. Logain, the false Dragon, had been captured after a big battle near the Forest of Shadows while he was trying to move his army from Ghealdan to Tear. The Prophecies, they understood? Thom nodded, and Barta went on. The roads in the south were packed with people, the lucky ones with what they could carry on their backs. Thousands fleeing in all directions.

“None”—Barta chuckled wryly—“supported Logain, of course. Oh, no, you won’t find many to admit to that, not now. Just refugees trying to find a safe place during the troubles.”

Aes Sedai had been involved in taking Logain, of course. Barta scowled when she said that, and again when she said they were taking the false Dragon north to Tar Valon. Barta was a decent woman, she said, a respectable woman, and Aes Sedai could all go back to the Blight where they came from and take Tar Valon with them, as far as she was concerned. She would get no closer to an Aes Sedai than a thousand miles, if she had her way. Of course, they were stopping at every village and town on the way north to display Logain, so she had heard. To show people that the false Dragon had been taken and the world was safe again. She would have liked to see that, even if it did mean getting close to Aes Sedai. She was halfway tempted to go to Caemlyn.

“They’ll be taking him there to show to Queen Morgase.” The innkeeper touched her forehead respectfully. “I’ve never seen the Queen. A woman ought to see her own Queen, don’t you think? Even if she does give the Aes Sedai more respect that they’re due.”

Logain could do “things,” and the way Barta’s eyes shifted and her tongue darted across her lips made it clear what she meant. She had seen the last false Dragon, two years ago, when he was paraded through the countryside, but that was just some noble sour over the laws that forbade men from ruling who thought he could make himself a king. There had been no need for Aes Sedai, that time. Soldiers had had him chained up on a wagon. A sullen-looking fellow who moaned in the middle of the wagonbed, covering his head with his arms whenever people threw stones or poked him with sticks. There had been a lot of that, and the soldiers had done nothing to stop it, as long as they did not kill the fellow. Best to let the people see he was nothing special after all. He could not do “things.” This Logain would be something to see, though. Something for Barta to tell her grandchildren about. If only the inn would let her get away.

Rand listened with an interest that did not have to be faked. When Padan Fain had brought word to Emond’s Field of a false Dragon, a man actually wielding the Power, it had been the biggest news to come into the Theren in years. What had happened since had pushed it to the back of his mind, but it was still the sort of thing people would be talking about for years, and telling their grandchildren about, too. Barta would probably tell hers that she had seen Logain whether she did or not. Nobody would ever think what happened to some village folk from the Theren was worth talking about, not unless they were Theren people themselves.

“That,” Thom said, “would be something to make a story of, a story they’d tell for a thousand years. I wish I had been there.” He sounded as if it was the simple truth, and Rand thought it really was. “I might try to see him anyway. You didn’t say what route they were taking. Perhaps there are some other travellers around? They might have heard the route.”

Barta waved a grubby hand dismissively. “North, that’s all anybody knows for sure around here. You want to see him, go to Caemlyn. I’ll wager they’ll want to take him there by way of the Far Madding road. Better than passing through Ghealdan again. Can’t take any chances with the Ghealdanin, as any honest folk will tell you. That’s all I know, and if there’s anything to know in Whitebridge, I know it.”

“No doubt you do,” Thom said smoothly. “I expect a lot of strangers passing through stop here. Your sign caught my eye from the foot of the White Bridge.”

“Not just from the west, I’ll have you know. Two days ago there was a fellow in here, an Illianer, with a proclamation all done up with seals and ribbons. Read it right out there in the square. Said he’s taking it all the way to the Mountains of Mist, maybe even on to Cairhien and the Borderlands. Said they’ve sent men to read it in every land in the world.” The innkeeper shook her head. “The Mountains of Mist. I hear they’re covered with fog all the year round, and there’s things in the fog will strip the flesh off your bones before you can run.” Mat snickered, earning a sharp look from Barta.

Thom leaned forward intently. “What did the proclamation say?”

“Why, the hunt for the Horn, of course,” Barta exclaimed. “Didn’t I say that? The Illianers are calling on everybody as will swear their lives to the hunt to gather in Illian. Can you imagine that? Swearing your life to a legend? I suppose they’ll find some fools. There’s always fools around. This fellow claimed the end of the world is coming. The last battle with the Dark One.” She chuckled, but it had a hollow sound, a woman laughing to convince herself something really was worth laughing at. “Guess they think the Horn of Valere has to be found before it happens. Now what do you think of that?” She chewed a knuckle pensively for a minute. “Course, I don’t know as I could argue with them after this winter. The winter, and this fellow Logain, and those other two before, as well. Why all these fellows the last few years claiming to be the Dragon? And the winter. Must mean something. What do you think?”

Thom did not seem to hear her. In a soft voice the gleeman began to recite to himself. “In the last, lorn fight ’gainst the fall of long night, the mountains stand guard, and the dead shall be ward, for the grave is no bar to my call.”

“That’s it.” Barta grinned as if she could already see the crowds handing her their money while they listened to Thom. “That’s it! The Great Hunt of the Horn. You tell that one, and they’ll be hanging from the rafters in here. Everybody’s heard about the proclamation.”

Thom still seemed to be a thousand miles away, so Rand said, “We’re looking for some friends who were coming this way. From the east. Have there been many strangers passing through in the last week or two?”

“Some,” Barta said slowly. “There’s always some, from east and west both.” She looked at each of them in turn, suddenly wary. “What do they look like, these friends of yours?”

Rand opened his mouth, but Thom, abruptly back from wherever he had been, gave him a sharp, silencing look. With an exasperated sigh the gleeman turned to the innkeeper. “Two men and four women,” he said reluctantly. “They may be together, or maybe not.” He gave thumbnail sketches, painting each one in just a few words, enough for anyone who had seen them to recognize without giving away anything about who they were.

Barta rubbed one hand over her head, disarranging her greying hair, and stood up slowly.

“Forget about performing here, gleeman. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you drank your wine and left. Leave Whitebridge, if you’re smart.”

“Someone else has been asking after them?” Thom took a drink, as if the answer were the least important thing in the world, and raised an eyebrow at the innkeeper. “Who would that be?”

Barta scrubbed her hand through her hair again and shifted her feet on the point of walking away, then nodded to herself. “About three days ago, a weaselly fellow came over the bridge. Crazy, everybody thought. Always talking to himself, never stopped moving even when he was standing still. Asked about the same people ... some of them. He asked like it was important, then acted like he didn’t care what the answer was. Half the time he was saying as he had to wait here for them, and the other half as he had to go on, he was in a hurry. One minute he was whining and begging, the next making demands like a king. Near got himself a thrashing a time or two, crazy or not. The Watch almost took him in custody for his own safety. He went off toward Caemlyn that same day, talking to himself and crying. Crazy, like I said.”

Rand looked at Thom and Mat questioningly, and they both shook their heads. If this weaselly fellow was looking for them, he was still nobody they recognized.

“Are you sure it was the same people he wanted?” Rand asked uncertainly.

“Some of them. The fighting man, and the woman in silk. But it wasn’t them as he cared about. I was three country boys.” Her eyes slid across Rand and Mat and away again so fast that Rand wasn’t sure if he had really seen the look or imagined it. “He was desperate to find them. But crazy, like I said.”

Rand shivered, and wondered who the crazy man could be, and why he was looking for them.  _ A Darkfriend? Would Ba’alzamon use a madman? _

“He was crazy, but the other one ...” Barta’s eyes shifted uneasily, and her tongue ran over her lips as if she could not find enough spit to moisten them. “Next day ... next day the other one came for the first time.” She fell silent.

“The other one?” Thom prompted finally.

Barta looked around, although their side of the divided room was still empty except for them. She even raised up on her toes and looked over the low wall. When she finally spoke, it was in a whispered rush.

“All in black he is. Keeps the hood of his cloak pulled up so you can’t see his face, but you can feel him looking at you, feel it like an icicle shoved into your spine. He ... he spoke to me.” She flinched and stopped to chew at her lip before going on. “Sounded like a snake crawling through dead leaves. Fair turned my stomach to ice. Every time as he comes back, he asks the same questions. Same questions the crazy man asked. Nobody ever sees him coming—he’s just there all of a sudden, day or night, freezing you where you stand. People are starting to look over their shoulders. Worst of it is, the gatetenders claim as he’s never passed through any of the gates, coming or going.”

Rand worked at keeping his face blank; he clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. Mat scowled, and Thom studied his wine. The word none of them wanted to say hung in the air between them. Myrddraal.

“I think I’d remember if I ever met anyone like that,” Thom said after a minute.

Barta’s head bobbed furiously. “Burn me, but you would. Light’s truth, you would. He ... he wants the same lot as the crazy man, only he says as there’s some girls with them. And”—she glanced sideways at Thom— “and a white-haired gleeman.”

Thom’s eyebrows shot up in what Rand was sure was unfeigned surprise. “A white-haired gleeman? Well, I’m hardly the only gleeman in the world with a little age on him. I assure you, I don’t know this fellow, and he can have no reason to be looking for me.”

“That’s as may be,” Barta said glumly. “He didn’t say it in so many words, but I got the impression as he would be very displeased with anyone as tried to help these people, or tried to hide them from him. Anyway, I’ll tell you what I told him. I haven’t seen any of them, nor heard tell of them, and that’s the truth. Not any of them,” she finished pointedly. Abruptly she slapped Thom’s money down on the table. “Just finish your wine and go. All right? All right?” And she trundled away as fast as she could, looking over her shoulder.

“A Fade,” Mat breathed when the innkeeper was gone. “I should have known they’d be looking for us here.”

“And he’ll be back,” Thom said, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “I say we sneak back to the docks and find a boat heading downriver. The hunt will centre on the road to Caemlyn while we’re on our way to Tear, a thousand miles from where the Myrddraal expect us.”

“No,” Rand said firmly. “We wait for Moiraine and the others in Whitebridge, or we go on to Caemlyn. One or the other, Thom. That’s what we decided.”

“That’s crazed, boy. Things have changed. You listen to me. No matter what this innkeeper says, when a Myrddraal stares at her, she’ll tell all about us down to what we had to drink and how much dust we had on our boots.” Rand shivered, remembering the Fade’s eyeless stare. “As for Caemlyn ... You think the Halfmen don’t know you want to get to Tar Valon? It’s a good time to be on a boat headed south.”

“No, Thom.” Rand had to force the words out, thinking of being a thousand miles from where the Fades were looking, but he took a deep breath and managed to firm his voice. “No.”

“Think, boy. Tear! There isn’t a grander city on the face of the earth. By the time the Myrddraal figure out where you’ve gone to, you’ll be old and grey and so tired of watching your grandchildren you won’t care even if they do find you.”

Rand’s face took on a stubborn set. “How many times do I have to say no? They’ll find us wherever we go. There’d be Fades waiting in Tear, too. And how do we escape the dreams? I want to know what’s happening to me, Thom, and why. I’m going to Tar Valon. With Moiraine if I can; without her if I have to. Alone, if I have to. I need to know. And besides, we have to find our friends. They’ll be expecting us to take the Caemlyn Road.”

“But Tear, boy! And a safe way out, downriver while they’re looking for you in another direction. Blood and ashes, a dream can’t hurt you.”

Rand kept silent.  _ A dream can’t hurt? _ He almost wished he had told Thom the full truth.  _ Do you dare tell anybody? Ba’alzamon is in your dreams, but what’s between dreaming and waking, now? Who do you dare to tell that the Dark One is interested in you? _

Thom seemed to understand. The gleeman’s face softened. “Even those dreams, lad. They are still just dreams, aren’t they? For the Light’s sake, Mat, talk to him. I know you don’t want to go to Tar Valon, at least.”

Mat’s face reddened, half embarrassment and half anger. He avoided looking at Rand and scowled at Thom instead. “Why are you going to all this fuss and bother? You want to go get a boat? Go get a boat. We’ll take care of ourselves.”

The gleeman’s thin shoulders shook with silent laughter, but his voice was anger tight. “You think you know enough about Myrddraal to escape by yourself, do you? You’re ready to walk into Tar Valon alone and hand yourself over to the Amyrlin Seat? Can you even tell one Ajah from another? The Light burn me, boy, if you think you can even get to Tar Valon alone, you tell me to go.”

“Go,” Mat growled, sliding a hand under his cloak.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Rand said, embarrassed now. Mat scowled at him, plainly offended that Rand would presume to speak for him. “At least not the way it sounded. You’ve done so much to help us Thom, and for no reason other than being a good man. If you want to take the boat to Tear no-one could blame you. But we have to press on and find our friends.”

Thom sighed in resignation. Then he gave himself a shake and spoke, softly and fast. “If Barta recognised our descriptions others will, too. Perhaps they already have.” As he spoke he pulled out a leather purse and hastily divided the money into three piles. “I’m going to see if one of those merchant carriages is heading west today. Swift passage and some hired guards would go a long way to easing my worries. Slip out the back door here and wait for me nearby. If I’m not back in half an hour, run, and run hard.”

Mat quickly stuffed the coins Thom shoved in front of him into his pocket. Rand picked his pile up more slowly. The coin Moiraine had given him was still in his own small purse. For some reason he could not fathom, he wanted to move the Aes Sedai’s coin elsewhere before adding Thom’s gift, lest he get confused and buy something with it by accident. Stuffing the money in his purse, he looked a question at the gleeman.

“In case we’re separated,” Thom explained. “We probably won’t be, but if it does happen ... well, you two will make out all right by yourselves. You’re good lads. Just keep clear of Aes Sedai, for your lives.”

“I thought you were staying with us,” Rand said.

“I am, boy. I am. But they’re getting close, now, and the Light only knows. Well, no matter. It isn’t likely anything will happen.” Thom paused, looking at Mat. “I hope you no longer mind me staying with you,” he said dryly.

Mat shrugged. He eyed each of them, then shrugged again. “I’m just on edge. I can’t seem to get rid of it. Every time we stop for a breath, they’re there, hunting us. I feel like somebody’s staring at the back of my head all the time. What are we going to do?”

“Whatever we have to,” Thom replied grimly.

“Why are you doing this?” Mat demanded again. “You’d be safer if you left us. Why are you staying with us?”

Thom stared at him for a long moment. “I had a nephew, Owyn,” he said wearily, shrugging out of his cloak. He made a pile with his blanketroll as he talked, carefully setting his cased instruments on top. “My brother’s only son, my only living kin. He got in trouble with the Aes Sedai, but I was too busy with ... other things. I don’t know what I could have done, but when I finally tried, it was too late. Owyn died a few months later. You could say Aes Sedai killed him.” He straightened up, not looking at them. His voice was still level, but Rand glimpsed tears in his eyes as he turned his head away. “If I can keep you two free of Tar Valon, maybe I can stop thinking about Owyn. Slip out the back and wait there.” Still avoiding their eyes, he eased from his chair and rose, nodding towards the back door and the kitchen beyond. “Be very quiet.” With that he strode off out of the inn.

Rand padded towards and through the kitchen doorway while Barta was watching Thom make his procession. Mat was already unlatching the inns back door when Rand quietly closed the door of the thankfully empty kitchen.

Once out in the back alley, Rand crouched low and eased that door closed as well.  _ We should move on _ , he thought. If Barta told the Myrddraal they had been to her inn, a few wooden doors weren’t going to be enough to protect them.

It was then he noticed what Mat had been gripping earlier. A curved dagger with a gold scabbard worked in strange symbols was hung from his belt. Fine gold wire wrapped the hilt, which was capped by a ruby as big as Rand’s thumbnail, and the quillons were golden-scaled serpents baring their fangs.

Mat slid the dagger in and out of its sheath for a moment. Still playing with the dagger he raised his head slowly; his eyes had a faraway look. Suddenly they focused on Rand, and he gave a start and pulled the tails of his coat forward, hiding the dagger from view.

Rand squatted on his heels, with his arms crossed on his knees. “Where did you get that?” Mat said nothing, looking quickly to see if anyone else was close by. They were alone. “You didn’t take it from Shadar Logoth, did you?”

Mat stared at him. “Mordeth didn’t give it to me. I took it, so Moiraine’s warnings about his gifts don’t count. You won’t tell anybody, Rand? They might try to steal it.”

“I won’t tell anybody,” Rand said slowly.

“Not anybody,” Mat insisted. “Not Thom, not anybody. We’re the only two left from Emond’s Field, Rand. We can’t afford to trust anybody else.”

“They’re alive, Mat. Perrin and Anna. Egwene and Nynaeve. I know they’re alive.” Mat looked ashamed. “I’ll keep your secret, though. Just the two of us. At least we don’t have to worry about money now. We can sell it for enough to travel to Tar Valon in our own merchant carriage.”

“Of course,” Mat said after a moment. “If we have to. Just don’t tell anybody until I say so.”

“I said I wouldn’t. Listen, have you had any more dreams since we came on the boat? Like in Baerlon? This is the first chance I’ve had to ask in private.”

Mat turned his head away, giving him a sidelong look. “Maybe.”

Rand looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean, maybe? Either you have or you haven’t.”

“All right, all right, I have. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it. It doesn’t do any good.” Mat scowled suddenly. “You believe that story Thom told?”

Rand went to lean beside the rain barrels. “What’s the matter with you, Mat? You aren’t like this. I haven’t heard you laugh in days.”

“I don’t like being hunted like a rabbit,” Mat snapped. He sighed, letting his head fall back against the brick wall of the inn. Even like that he seemed tense. His eyes shifted warily. “Sorry. It’s the running, and all these strangers, and ... and just everything. It makes me jumpy. I look at somebody, and I can’t help wondering if he’s going to tell the Fades about us, or cheat us, or rob us, or ... Light, Rand, doesn’t it make you nervous?”

Rand laughed, a quick bark in the back of his throat. “I’m too scared to be nervous.”

“What do you think the Aes Sedai did to his nephew?”

“I don’t know,” Rand said uneasily. There was only one kind of trouble that he knew of for a man to get into with Aes Sedai. “Not something we need to worry about, I guess.”

“No. Not us.” His morose expression vanished abruptly. “Fancy a quick tumble?”

Rand was incredulous. “Here? Now? No way, Thom will be back any minute.”

“He said half an hour. There’s plenty of time.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how long he takes with the merchants.”

“Aw come one. We could be done quick, it’s been ages since we had any privacy. Burn me, I’d have to try real hard not to be quick, and I bet you would, too.” He smirked as he pestered.

Lips tight, Rand glanced up the ally in either direction; there was only one exit, no-one could be seen in the street beyond. Except for half a dozen rain barrels against the inn and the next building, a tailor shop, the alley was empty, the hard-packed dirt dry and dusty. “No. I don’t want to risk being seen,” he said nervously.

But Mat had noticed his looking and was nothing if not persistent. “Those doorways towards the back look nicely recessed,” he said leadingly. Rand set his jaw and kept staring out at the street. “It’s just the two of us now,” Mat continued in a sad voice, “who knows when we’ll see home again. If we ever do. It’s so hard, never knowing if we’ll still be alive this time tomorrow ...”

Rand sighed. “Fine. Hurry though.” He strode to the back of the alley, trying to walk both quietly and fast.

Mat grinned in triumph. “Oh, I intend to.”

The doorway was indeed nicely recessed. A careful push revealed that it was locked as well. Rand hoped no-one was home, or that they were at least very busy. He set his saddlebags and Thom’s wrapped bundle down and propped his bow against the wall then began hurriedly unbuckling his belt. With a wary look up the alley, Rand pulled his trousers and underwear down to his knees, spread his legs and lent over against the rough brick wall of the doorway.

Mat freed himself swiftly and pushed Rand’s long coat to the side, revealing his pale bottom. He thrust himself inside wordlessly while Rand focused on trying to relax. It wasn’t easy for him in the circumstances, but Mat was persistent in that as well. It didn’t take long before Rand felt Mat’s cock lodged all the way inside him.

“That’s the stuff,” Mat whispered. Then he started fucking Rand as fast as he could.

He was merciless in his thrusts, he really must have been feeling neglected, but Rand could not deny the enjoyment Mat stirred in him as his cock stirred his depths. His own cock stiffened as Mat pounded him and he had to shift his position slightly to avoid scraping it up against the rough wall. Mat noticed and a nimble hand darted forward to wrap itself around Rand’s member. Rand could not see, but he could well imagine his friend’s smirk. He glanced up the alley again, heart pounding, cheeks red. They were still alone. For now.

Mat’s grip was well practiced. His hand sped up and down Rand’s cock as he used Rand’s ass for his pleasure.

When he came it was hard and fast. Rand heard him suck in a breath and hold it, then felt him spurt inside. The breath sighed out of him in ragged time with the waves of his seed, and his forehead came to rest on Rand’s back.

Mat kept working his hand on Rand’s cock but his grip had grown less assured. Rand, craving release of his own now, decided to help him out. Wrapping his grip around Mat’s own, he jerked himself off using his friend’s willing hand, Mat’s stiff cock and warm cream still filling Rand’s hole.

It didn’t take long before his own climax came. He let out a long low sigh as he dirtied the already dirty alleyway.

They didn’t bother taking time to clean up. Mat unsheathed his cock from Rand’s body, and hastily tucked himself away. “See, no-one saw us. I told you it’d be fine.”

Rand pulled up his trousers and rebuckled his belt, his cheeks still felt very red. “Lucky us. Let’s get out of her before someone comes.”

Mat smirked and opened his mouth.

“Someone else.” Rand said with a roll of his eyes.

Mat’s laugh was a short, barked thing, but it was still a welcome sound to Rand. It had been some time since he’d heard it. It made Mat seem almost his old self. They gathered up their things and made their way up the alley.

For a time they crouched against the wall, not talking. Rand was not sure how long they waited. A few minutes, probably, but it felt like an hour, waiting for Thom to come back, waiting for Barta to open door with a Fade at her shoulder and denounce them. Then a man turned in at the mouth of the alley, a tall man with the hood of his cloak pulled up to hide his face, a cloak black as night against the light of the street.

Rand scrambled to his feet, one hand wrapped around the hilt of Tam’s sword so hard that his knuckles hurt. His mouth went dry. Mat rose to his feet with one hand under his cloak.

The man came closer, and Rand’s throat grew tighter with every step. Abruptly the man stopped and tossed back his cowl. Rand’s knees almost gave way. It was Thom.

“Well, if you don’t recognize me”—the gleeman grinned—“I guess it’s a good enough disguise for the gates.”

Thom pushed past them and began transferring things from his patch-covered cloak to his new one so nimbly that Rand could not make out any of them. The new cloak was dark brown, Rand saw now. He drew a deep, ragged breath; his throat still felt as if it were clutched in a fist. Brown, not black. Mat still had his hand under his cloak, and he stared at Thom’s back as if he were thinking of using the hidden dagger.

Thom glanced up at them, then gave them a sharper look. “This is no time to get skittish.” Deftly he began folding his old cloak into a bundle around his instrument cases, inside out so the patches were hidden. “We’ll walk out of here one at a time, just close enough to keep each other in sight. Shouldn’t be remembered especially, that way. Can’t you slouch?” he added to Rand. “That height of yours is as bad as a banner.” He slung the bundle across his back and stood, drawing his hood back up. He looked nothing like a white-haired gleeman. He was just another traveller, a man too poor to afford a horse, much less a carriage.

“Did you manage to find a caravan going west,” Rand asked.

Thom shook his head regretfully. “The earliest departure is scheduled for tomorrow morning. We can’t afford to wait that long. Or at all. Let’s go. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

Rand agreed, but even so he hesitated before stepping out of the alley into the square. None of the sparse scattering of people gave them a second look—most did not look at them at all—but his shoulders knotted. He ran his eyes across the open area, over people moving about on their daily business, and when he brought them back a Myrddraal was halfway across the square.

Where the Fade had come from, he could not begin to guess, but it strode toward the three of them with a slow deadliness, a predator with the prey under its gaze. It was broad daylight and the Myrddraal was alone but it seemed unconcerned by that. And with good reason. People shied away from the black-cloaked shape, avoided looking at it. The square began to empty out as folk decided they were needed elsewhere.

The black cowl froze Rand where he stood. He tried to summon up the void, but it was like fumbling after smoke. The Fade’s hidden gaze knifed to his bones and turned his marrow to icicles.

“Don’t look at its face,” Thom muttered. His voice shook and cracked, and it sounded as if he were forcing the words out. “The Light burn you, don’t look at its face!”

Rand tore his eyes away—he almost groaned; it felt like tearing a leech off of his face—but even staring at the stones of the square he could still see the Myrddraal coming, a cat playing with mice, amused at their feeble efforts to escape, until finally the jaws snapped shut. The Fade had halved the distance. “Are we just going to stand here?” he mumbled. “We have to run ... get away.” But he could not make his feet move.

Mat had the ruby-hilted dagger out at last, in a trembling hand. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, a snarl and a rictus of fear.

“Think ...” Thom stopped to swallow, and went on hoarsely. “Think you can outrun it, do you, boy?” He began to mutter to himself; the only word Rand could make out was “Owyn.” Abruptly Thom growled, “I never should have gotten mixed up with you boys. Should never have.” He shrugged the bundled gleeman’s cloak off of his back and thrust it into Rand’s arms. “Take care of that. When I say run, you run and don’t stop until you get to Caemlyn. The Queen’s Blessing. An inn. Remember that, in case ... Just remember it.”

“I don’t understand,” Rand said. The Myrddraal was not twenty paces away, now. His feet felt like lead weights.

“Just remember it!” Thom snarled. “The Queen’s Blessing. Now. RUN!”

He gave them a push, one hand on the shoulder of each of them, to get them started, and Rand stumbled away in a lurching run with Mat at his side.

“RUN!” Thom sprang into motion, too, with a long, wordless roar. Not after them, but toward the Myrddraal. His hands flourished as if he were performing at his best, and daggers appeared. Rand stopped, but Mat pulled him along.

The Fade was just as startled. Its leisurely pace faltered in mid-stride. Its hand swept toward the hilt of the black sword hanging at its waist, but the gleeman’s long legs covered the distance quickly. Thom crashed into the Myrddraal before the black blade was half drawn, and both went down in a thrashing heap. The few people still in the square fled.

“RUN!” The air in the square flashed an eye-searing blue, and Thom began to scream, but even in the middle of the scream he managed a word. “RUN!”

Rand obeyed. The gleeman’s screams pursued him.

Clutching Thom’s bundle to his chest, he ran as hard as he could. Panic spread from the square out through the town as Rand and Mat fled on the crest of a wave of fear. Shopkeepers abandoned their goods as the boys passed. Shutters banged down over storefronts, and frightened faces appeared in the windows of houses, then vanished. People who had not been close enough to see ran through the streets wildly, paying no heed. They bumped into one another, and those who were knocked down scrambled to their feet or were trampled. Whitebridge roiled like a kicked anthill.

As he and Mat pounded toward the gates, Rand abruptly remembered what Thom had said about his height. Without slowing down, he crouched as best he could without looking as if he was crouching. But the gates themselves, thick wood bound with black iron straps, stood open. The two gatetenders, in steel caps and mail tunics worn over cheap-looking red coats with white collars, fingered their halberds and stared uneasily into the town. One of them glanced at Rand and Mat, but they were not the only ones running out of the gates. A steady stream boiled through, panting men clutching wives, weeping women carrying babes and dragging crying children, pale-faced craftsmen still in their aprons, still heedlessly gripping their tools.

There would be no-one who could tell which way they had gone, Rand thought as he ran, dazed.

_ Thom. Oh, Light save me, Thom. _

Mat staggered beside him, caught his balance, and they ran until the last of the fleeing people had fallen away, ran until the town and the White Bridge were far out of sight behind them.

Finally Rand fell to his knees in the dust, pulling air raggedly into his raw throat with great gulps. The road behind stretched empty until it was lost to sight among bare trees. Mat plucked at him.

“Come on. Come on.” Mat panted the words. Sweat and dust streaked his face, and he looked ready to collapse. “We have to keep going.”

“Thom,” Rand said. He tightened his arms around the bundle of Thom’s cloak; the instrument cases were hard lumps inside. “Thom.”

“He’s dead. You saw. You heard. Light, Rand, he’s dead!”

“You think Egwene and Moiraine and the rest are dead, too. If they’re dead, why are the Myrddraal still hunting them? Answer me that?”

Mat dropped to his knees in the dust beside him. “All right. Maybe they are alive. But Thom—You saw! Blood and ashes, Rand, the same thing can happen to us.”

Rand nodded slowly. The road behind them was still empty. He had been halfway expecting— hoping, at least—to see Thom appear, striding along, blowing out his moustaches to tell them how much trouble they were. The Queen’s Blessing in Caemlyn. He struggled to his feet and slung Thom’s bundle on his back alongside his saddlebags. Mat stared up at him, narrow-eyed and wary.

“Let’s go,” Rand said, and started down the road toward Caemlyn. He heard Mat muttering, and after a moment he caught up to Rand.

They trudged along the dusty road, heads down and not talking. The wind spawned dustdevils that whirled across their path. Sometimes Rand looked back, hoping, but the road behind was always empty.


	12. Trails and Trials

CHAPTER 29: Trails and Trials

Nynaeve stared in wonder at what lay ahead down the river, the White Bridge gleaming in the sun with a milky glow.  _ Another legend _ , she thought, glancing at the Warder and the Aes Sedai, riding just ahead of her.  _ Another legend, and they don’t even seem to notice _ . She resolved not to stare where they could see.  _ They’ll laugh if they see me gaping like a country bumpkin _ . The three rode on silently toward the fabled White Bridge.

Since that morning after Shadar Logoth, when she had found Moiraine and Lan on the bank of the Arindrelle, there had been little in the way of real conversation between her and the Aes Sedai. There had been talk, of course, but nothing of substance as Nynaeve saw it. Moiraine’s attempts to talk her into going to Tar Valon, for instance. Tar Valon. She would go there, if need be, and take their training, but not for the reasons the Aes Sedai thought. If Moiraine had brought harm to Egwene and the rest of the Theren folk ...

Sometimes, against her will, Nynaeve had found herself thinking of what a Wisdom could do with the One Power. Of what she could do. Whenever she realized what was in her head, though, a flash of anger burned it out. The Power was a filthy thing. She would have nothing to do with it. Unless she had to.

The cursed woman only wanted to talk about taking her to Tar Valon for training. Moiraine would not tell her anything! It was not as if she wanted to know so much.

“How do you mean to find them?” she remembered demanding.

“As I have told you,” Moiraine replied without bothering to look back at her, “So long as they have my tokens in their possessions I can follow them across half the world, if need be.” It was not the first time Nynaeve had asked, but the Aes Sedai’s voice was like a still pond that refused to ripple no matter how many stones Nynaeve threw; it made the Wisdom’s blood boil every time she was exposed to it. Moiraine went on as if she could not feel Nynaeve’s eyes on her back; Nynaeve knew she must be able to, she was staring so hard.

“And then? What do you plan when you’ve found them, Aes Sedai?” She did not for a minute believe the Aes Sedai would be so intent on finding them if she did not have plans.

“Tar Valon, Wisdom.”

“Tar Valon, Tar Valon. That’s all you ever say, and I am becoming—”

“Part of the training you will receive in Tar Valon, Wisdom, will teach you to control your temper. You can do nothing with the One Power when emotion rules your mind.” Nynaeve opened her mouth, but the Aes Sedai went right on. “Lan, I must speak with you a moment.”

The two put their heads together, and Nynaeve was left with a sullen glower that she hated every time she realized it was on her face. It came too often as the Aes Sedai deftly turned her questions off onto another subject, slid easily by her conversational traps, or ignored her shouts until they ended in silence. The scowl made her feel like a girl who had been caught acting the fool by someone in the Women’s Circle. That was a feeling Nynaeve was not used to, and the calm smile on Moiraine’s face only made it worse.

If only there was some way to get rid of the woman. Lan would be better by himself— _ a Warder should be able to handle what was needed _ , she told herself hastily, feeling a sudden flush;  _ no other reason _ —but one meant the other.

And yet, Lan made her even more furious than Moiraine. She could not understand how he managed to get under her skin so easily. He rarely said anything—sometimes not a dozen words in a day—and he never took part in any of the ... discussions with Moiraine. He was often apart from the two women, scouting the land, but even when he was there he kept a little to one side, watching them as if watching a duel. Nynaeve wished he would stop. If it was a duel, she had not managed to score once, and Moiraine did not even seem to realize she was in a fight. Nynaeve could have done without his cool blue eyes, without even a silent audience.

That had been the way of their journey, for the most part. Quiet, except when her temper got the best of her, and sometimes when she shouted the sound of her voice seemed to crash in the silence like breaking glass. The land itself was quiet, as if the world were pausing to catch its breath. The wind moaned in the trees, but all else was still.

At first the stillness was restful after everything that had happened. It seemed as if she had not known a moment of quiet since before Winternight. By the end of the first day alone with the Aes Sedai and the Warder, though, she was looking over her shoulder and fidgeting in her saddle as if she had an itch in the middle of her back where she could not reach. The silence seemed like crystal doomed to shatter, and waiting for the first crack put her teeth on edge.

It weighed on Moiraine and Lan, too, as outwardly imperturbable as they were. She soon realized that, beneath their calm surfaces, hour by hour they wound tighter and tighter, like clocksprings being forced to the breaking point. Moiraine seemed to listen to things that were not there, and what she heard put a crease in her forehead. Lan watched the forest and the river as if the leafless trees and wide, slow water carried the signs of traps and ambushes waiting ahead.

Part of her was glad that she was not the only one who apprehended that poised-on-the-brink feel to the world, but if it affected them, it was real, and another part of her wanted nothing so much as for it to be just her imagination. Something of it tickled the corners of her mind, as when she listened to the wind, but now she knew that that had to do with the One Power, and she could not bring herself to embrace those ripples at the edge of thought.

“It is nothing,” Lan said quietly when she asked. He did not look at her while he spoke; his eyes never ceased their scanning. Then, contradicting what he had just said, he added, “You should go back to your Theren when we reach Whitebridge, and the Caemlyn Road. It’s too dangerous here. Nothing will try to stop you going back, though.” It was the longest speech he made all that day.

“She is part of the Pattern, Lan,” Moiraine said chidingly. Her gaze was elsewhere, too. “It is the Dark One, Nynaeve. The storm has left us ... for a time, at least.” She raised one hand as though feeling the air, then scrubbed it on her dress unconsciously, as if she had touched filth. “He is still watching, however”—she sighed—“and his gaze is stronger. Not on us, but on the world. How much longer before he is strong enough to ...”

Nynaeve hunched her shoulders; suddenly she could almost feel someone staring at her back. It was one explanation she would just as soon the Aes Sedai had not given her.

Lan scouted their path down the river, but where before he had chosen the way, now Moiraine did so, as surely as if she followed some unseen track, footprints in air, the scent of memory. Lan only checked the route she intended, to see that it was safe. Nynaeve had the feeling that even if he said it was not, Moiraine would insist on it anyway.  _ And he would go _ , she was sure.  _ Straight down the river to ... _

With a start, Nynaeve pulled out of her thoughts. They were at the foot of the White Bridge. The pale arch shone in the sunlight, a milky spiderweb too delicate to stand, sweeping across the Arindrelle. The weight of a man would bring it crashing down, much less that of a horse. Surely it would collapse under its own weight any minute.

Lan and Moiraine rode unconcernedly ahead, up the gleaming white approach and onto the bridge, hooves ringing, not like steel on glass, but like steel on steel. The surface of the bridge certainly looked as slick as glass, wet glass, but it gave the horses a firm, sure footing.

Nynaeve made herself follow, giving Muscles a good kick to catch up; the stubborn brown gelding was letting the Aes Sedai get too far ahead of her. He wasn’t hers, and that wasn’t his name, but she had been in a hurry when she left the Theren and hadn’t thought to ask Abell Candwin what the fool horse was called. He had a muscley look about him though, she wouldn’t put it past him to break the bridge and send them both plummeting into the river.

From the first step she half waited for the entire structure to shatter under them.  _ If lace were made of glass _ , she thought,  _ it would look like this _ .

It was not until they were almost all the way across that she noticed the tarry smell of char thickening the air. In a moment she saw.

Around the square at the foot of the White Bridge piles of blackened timbers, still leaking smoky threads, replaced half a dozen buildings. Men in poorly fitting red uniforms and tarnished armour patrolled the streets, but they marched quickly, as if afraid of finding anything, and they looked over their shoulders as they went. Townspeople—the few who were out—almost ran, shoulders hunched, as though something were chasing them.

Lan looked grim, even for him, and people walked wide of the three of them, even the soldiers. The Warder sniffed the air and grimaced, growling under his breath.

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” Moiraine mumbled. “No eye can see the Pattern until it is woven.”

In the next moment she was down off Aldieb and speaking to townsfolk. She did not ask questions; she gave sympathy, and to Nynaeve’s surprise it appeared genuine. People who shied away from Lan, ready to hurry from any stranger, stopped to speak with Moiraine. They appeared startled themselves at what they were doing, but they opened up, after a fashion, under Moiraine’s clear gaze and soothing voice. The Aes Sedai’s eyes seemed to share the people’s hurt, to empathize with their confusion, and tongues loosened.

They still lied, though. Most of them. Some denied there had been any trouble at all. Nothing at all. Moiraine mentioned the burned buildings all around the square. Everything was fine, they insisted, staring past what they did not want to see.

One fat fellow spoke with a hollow heartiness, but his cheek twitched at every noise behind him. With a grin that kept slipping, he claimed an overturned lamp had started a fire that spread with the wind before anything could be done. One glance showed Nynaeve that no burned structure stood alongside another.

There were almost as many different stories as there were people. Several women lowered their voices conspiratorially. The truth of the matter was there was a man somewhere in the town meddling with the One Power. It was time to have the Aes Sedai in; past time, was the way they saw it, no matter what the men said about Tar Valon. Let the Red Ajah settle matters.

One man claimed it had been an attack by bandits, and another said a riot by Darkfriends. “Those ones going to see the false Dragon, you know,” he confided darkly. “They’re all over the place. Darkfriends, every one.”

Still others spoke of some kind of trouble—they were vague about exactly what kind—that had come downriver on a boat. One man mentioned a gleeman, and Nynaeve wondered if it could be Thom Merrilin he spoke of.

“Perhaps,” Moiraine said, when she put the thought forward. “We shall see.”

An inn still stood in the square, the common room divided in two by a shoulder-high wall. Moiraine paused as she stepped into the inn, feeling the air with her hand. She smiled at whatever it was she felt, but she would say nothing of it, then.

Their meal was consumed in an unpleasant quiet, not only at their table, but throughout the common room. The handful of people eating there concentrated on their own plates and their own thoughts. The innkeeper, dusting tables with a corner of her apron, muttered to herself continually, but always too low to be heard. Nynaeve did not relish the thought of sleeping there; even the air was heavy with fear.

“Where are the others?” Nynaeve demanded of the Warder.

Lan looked at Moiraine, who shook her head slightly and said, “There is one somewhere to the north-west of us.” A small, satisfied smile touched her lips. “The others were in this room, no more than three days ago. They went west, along the Caemlyn Road.”

“Which two?” Nynaeve leaned over the table intently. “Do you know?” The Aes Sedai shook her head, the slightest of motions, and Nynaeve settled back. “If they’re only a few days ahead, we should go after them first.”

“Perhaps,” Moiraine said in that insufferably calm voice, “but the road will carry us north and west also. We shall gather whichever wayward lambs we catch up with first. I trust they are all smart enough to go toward Caemlyn.”

“But—” Nynaeve began, but Lan cut her off in a soft voice.

“The two who came here had reason to be afraid when they left.” He looked around, then lowered his voice. “There was a Halfman here.” He grimaced, the way he had in the square. “I can still smell him everywhere.”

Moiraine sighed. “I will keep hope until I know it is gone. I refuse to believe the Dark One can win so easily. I will find all three of them alive and well. I must believe it.”

“I want to find the boys, too,” Nynaeve said, “but what about Egwene? You never even mention her, and you ignore me when I ask. I thought you were going to take her off to”—she glanced at the other tables, and lowered her voice—“to Tar Valon.”

The Aes Sedai studied the tabletop for a moment before raising her eyes to Nynaeve’s, and when she did, Nynaeve started back from a flash of anger that almost seemed to make Moiraine’s eyes glow. Then her back stiffened, her own anger rising, but before she could say a word, the Aes Sedai spoke coldly.

“I hope to find Egwene alive and well, too. I do not easily give up young women with that much ability once I have found them. But it will be as the Wheel weaves.”

Nynaeve felt a cold ball in the pit of her stomach.  _ Am I one of those young women you won’t give up? We’ll see about that, Aes Sedai. The Light burn you, we’ll see about that! _

The meal was finished in silence. About the time they pushed their plates away, wiped clean with the last scraps of bread, one of the red-uniformed soldiers appeared in the doorway. He seemed resplendent to Nynaeve, in his peaked helmet and burnished breastplate, until he took a pose just inside the door, with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword and a stern look on his face, and used a finger to ease his too-tight collar. It made her think of Cenn Buie trying to act the way a Village Councillor should.

Lan spared him one glance and snorted. “Militia. Useless.”

The soldier looked over the room, letting his eyes come to rest on them. He hesitated, then took a deep breath before stomping over to demand, all in a rush, who they were, what their business was in Whitebridge, and how long they intended to stay.

“We are leaving as soon as I finish my ale,” Lan said. He took another slow swallow before looking up at the soldier. “The Light illumine good Queen Morgase.”

The red-uniformed man opened his mouth, then took a good look at Lan’s eyes and stepped back. He caught himself immediately, with a glance at Moiraine and her. She thought for a moment that he was going to do something foolish to keep from looking the coward in front of two women. In her experience, men were often idiots that way. But too much had happened in Whitebridge; too much uncertainty had escaped from the cellars of men’s minds. The militiaman looked back at Lan and reconsidered once more. The Warder’s hard-planed face was expressionless, but there were those cold blue eyes. So cold.

The militiaman settled on a brisk nod. “See that you do. Too many strangers around these days for the good of the Queen’s peace.”

“How so? I couldn’t help but notice the aftermath of some disturbance in the square without.” Moiraine’s voice was coolly conversational, as if she cared not a whit for the man’s answer.

“A gleeman and his apprentices,” he said with an ugly scowl. “Stirring up trouble for decent folk. The apprentices ran off, but the master was not so lucky.”

“What became of the miscreant,” Moiraine asked. Her voice remained cool, but Nynaeve thought she saw little sparks of anger in those dark, slightly tilted eyes.

“He got into a scuffle with some other fellow, an accomplice perhaps, and came out the worst of it. I wasn’t there myself, but I heard he started throwing fireworks around like an Illuminator ... or maybe one of those sick fools who touch the One Power. He’ll get his, regardless. He set a lot of buildings on fire with that display. Good people stand to lose their livelihood over it.”

“He will, ‘get his’, as you call it? So he has not already been dealt with then?”

The militiaman shook his head. “We have him in the jail. For questioning, you understand. So far all he does is tremble, sweat and mutter to himself. Might be he’s dying of the cut on his leg ... though it only looked a little thing to me. Could be infected I guess. I told the captain we should just leave him to his fate, but he wants answers so he brought in the local healer. She says there’s something wrong with the man’s wound though. Might be he’ll die anyway.”

“A most troubling tale, guardsman. We shall be sure to pass through Whitebridge in haste, lest these miscreants return. A good day to you.”

The man blinked uncertainly at her clear dismissal. A hand rose to knuckle his forehead seemingly of its own will. Turning on his heel he stomped out again, practicing his stern look on the locals as he went. None of the folk in the inn seemed to notice.

“Thom Merrilin?” Nynaeve whispered.

Moiraine raised an eyebrow at her insultingly and kept her voice pitched low. “A gleeman, two young men, and a wound that sounds very like those left by Thakan’dar steel? It seems very likely the prisoner in question is Master Merrilin, yes. But what to do about it?”

Nynaeve scowled at her. “Help him, obviously. By what I can gather from that fool man’s lies, it sounds as though the gleeman got into a fight with a Fade trying to defend the boys. Knowing that, do you mean to abandon him to these people’s judgement?”

Lan surprised her. “I could deal with the militia without doing any lasting damage,” he volunteered, looking at Moiraine with a very blank face, like that of some heroic statue.

Moiraine sighed. “To their persons, I do not doubt. To our reputations ... well. And the longer we delay here the longer the two boys remain unprotected.”

Nynaeve drew a deep breath, ready to begin the argument in earnest.

“But we shall save Master Merrilin from the guards’ tender mercies nonetheless,” the damnable woman continued, before Nynaeve could get a word out. She clicked her teeth shut angrily. “We will need to arrange passage downriver. If the wound is as I suspect it, he will not be fit to travel for some time. And I do not know of a safe location nearby in which to deposit him. Lan. You will find me at the docks.”

The Warder nodded and slid smoothly from his chair. He dropped some coins on the inn’s counter as he strode by.

Nynaeve and Moiraine gathered themselves and left soon after. Nynaeve in the lead by simple virtue of having lengthened her stride. She marched determinedly out into the partially burned town while Moiraine was still gliding through the inn, too concerned with looking gracious and ladylike to attend to the task ahead in a proper, timely fashion.

Once there, she turned towards the docks, leaving Moiraine to catch up.

She had to wait a time once she got there, to her very great irritation. Moiraine had the money they would need to pay for passage. Nynaeve’s own purse was much the thinner of the two. A Wisdom was paid more than enough to cover her needs, but that was hardly the reason any decent woman would take up the responsibility. So she was left with no choice but to plant her feet, cross her arms beneath her breasts and glare at anyone who was fool enough to venture near her while she waited for Moiraine to finally make her appearance.

Passing sailors and townspeople looked askance at Nynaeve, but they wilted quickly enough under her glare. They avoided her eyes, looking oddly confused, and gave her a good space.

Her lips thinned when she spotted Moiraine several jetties down, talking to a short, bony, grey-haired woman in a dark coat with ears that stood out and a weathered look about her. She stood near the gangplank of a large ship with s silver star on the flag that fluttered from its mast. A captain of some sort, Nynaeve suspected. She was left with little choice but to make her way over and see what the Aes Sedai was up to this time. Damn her.

“You shall have your fare money, Captain,” Moiraine was telling her.

“Then if you’ll come aboard, I’ll sail. I like being here in daylight now less than ever.”

“As soon as the rest of my companions arrive,” Moiraine said, nodding in Nynaeve’s direction. “Here is one. The other two should be along soon. Though one may have to carry the other. Some men are overly fond of ale, despite a poor tolerance for its effects.”

The captain jerked her chin rudely in Nynaeve’s direction. “I’ll show you to the cabin.”

“My thanks, Captain Danmielle,” Moiraine followed her up the gangplank in her gliding walk, forcing Nynaeve to come along behind, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

Danmielle’s cabin proved to be the only accommodation on the ship above deck. Despite that, she didn’t seemed particularly reluctant about moving out. Her haste—skirts and coats and blouses flung over her shoulders and dangling from a great wad in her arms—made Nynaeve suspect that Moiraine had over-paid for passage.

The inside of the cabin only reinforced her suspicion. The cabin was small and most of the space was taken by a heavy table and high-backed chair fastened to the floor, and the ladder leading up to the deck. A washstand built into the wall, with a pitcher and bowl and a narrow dusty mirror, crowded the room still more, and completed the furnishings except for a few empty shelves and pegs for hanging clothes. And there was only one narrow bed. The woman surely had not given up one inch of space that might be stuffed with cargo.

The Aes Sedai was watching her closely. “Jasmine Danmielle came to Whitebridge in the night, and she wants to leave in the night. She is, of course, a smuggler.”

“In this vessel? It is a barrel.” Nynaeve sat down on the edge of the bed. It might be a bit cramped, but it had a thick feather mattress. The ship did roll disturbingly, though. She imagined it would be worse once it was out on the river. Well, Thom Merrilin would have little cause to complain.  _ Better this ship than whatever awaits him here in Whitebridge _ .

“You know much of smugglers in the Theren then?” Moiraine’s tone was polite, the small smile on her lips anything but. Nynaeve glared at her but, unlike the sailors outside, the Aes Sedai was completely unfazed by her anger. “Few such dare practice their trade in Tar Valon, of course. Those that do are quickly identified and made to rue their decision.”

“Tar Valon,” Nynaeve said scornfully. “I’m sick of hearing about Tar Valon. Why hire a smuggler of all things to take Merrilin downriver? There were plenty of other ships.”

Moiraine studied her for an uncomfortably long time before answering. “Partially  _ because _ she is a smuggler; she will be much more reluctant to deal with the militia than an honest trader captain would. And partially because she was already making ready to sail. The sooner Thom is on his way, the less likely he is to be retaken by the guards. I would like to question him before I Heal his wound, but given the nature of Thakan’dar steel it is likely he will be too delirious to tell me much of what became the two boys.”

Nynaeve got to her feet and paced as much as the cramped cabin would allow. “You still haven’t told me how you know where they are, or what you intend to do to them once we find them.”

“Haven’t I?” Moiraine almost sounded exasperated. It was hard to tell with her.

“No. But I promise you this: if you hurt any of my people you will regret it bitterly.”

She sighed lightly. “So you have said. But how, exactly, do you hope to make that happen?”

Nynaeve’s circuit of the table had brought her around until her back was to the Aes Sedai. She stopped in her tracks, searching her mind for an answer to that question. It infuriated her that she could find none.

“You have no hope ... unless you go to Tar Valon,” Moiraine’s whisper stirred the hair by Nynaeve’s ear. She stood very stiffly, realising that the woman was right behind, practically touching her back.  _ Does she think to intimidate me? _ She would not find Nynaeve al’Meara so easily cowed!

“Your precious Tar Valon can burn for all of me. The Theren is my responsibility, and no-one will harm it while I live.”

“Such fire,” Moiraine mused. “Among the Aes Sedai we have a saying, ‘there is no _fire so_ fierce that _water cannot quench_ it or wind snuff it out.’ Those last two are usually the strongest of the five powers among women, you see.” Nynaeve felt a tugging at the back of her dress and frowned in confusion. “As you would learn in Tar Valon. Among so many other things.” The bodice of her good wool dress felt suddenly loose; Nynaeve gasped, realising that the Aes Sedai had undone her buttons.

“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded, spinning to face Moiraine ... or trying to. Something held her pinned in place, it felt like ropes bound her wrists and ankles, but she could see nothing there. The One Power. Nynaeve paled.

“Whatsoever I wish ... until you stop me,” Moiraine whispered, her breath hot in Nynaeve’s ear. The Aes Sedai lowered the top of Nynaeve’s dress to her elbows, calmly and with no concern for the other woman’s struggles. Nynaeve watched incredulously as her own breasts—larger than Moiraine’s she had long since noted, with secret pride—spilled free. The stuffy cabin’s air on her bare skin made her tremble. Just the air, nothing else.

Moiraine’s hands on her breasts brought a sharp cry from Nynaeve’s lips, before she bit down on it and forced herself to silence. The Aes Sedai squeezed her soft flesh gently, then started teasing her nipples between thumb and finger. No-one had touched Nynaeve’s skin outside of her work in nearly a decade. Even Rand, when the sweet fool had dared to kiss her, had been careful to keep his hands to himself. If he hadn’t she would have done more than thump and scold him. That she hadn’t reported his scandalous behaviour to the Women’s Circle was only because of his, relative, courtesy. Not because of how nice it had been to be touched. Not at all.

“Stop that, you wicked Aes Sedai witch,” Nynaeve grated.

“Or?”

“Or ...”  _ Or what? _

Moiraine went right ahead, fondling Nynaeve’s breasts as she pleased. “Such rich, thick hair you have,” the Aes Sedai whispered, weighing Nynaeve’s braid in one hand. “Let us see you in your full glory, shall we?”

The invisible ropes pulled Nynaeve forward until her legs struck the low table, then kept pulling until she was forced to bend over. Her breasts slapped against the polished surface of the table as she sprawled helplessly before Moiraine. “Let me go!” she demanded, though surely she imagined how high-pitched her voice suddenly was.

Moiraine ignored her. Instead she reached down and twitched Nynaeve’s skirts up, bundling them about her hips. She gave Nynaeve’s buttocks an experimental pat through her linen underwear. Then she calmly untied and lowered her drawers, exposing the Wisdom’s most private place to her dark, cool, oh-so-superior eyes. Nynaeve felt her cheeks burn red.

“As rich and thick below as above I see,” Moiraine said amusedly. Nynaeve hadn’t thought it possible to blush hotter than she had already been, but she learned otherwise then.

The invisible bonds pulled Nynaeve’s legs slightly apart. Slender fingers probed her opening, forcing a gasp from her before she clenched her teeth shut once more. They slid inside, where no finger but Nynaeve’s own had ever been, in those rare, shameful moments.

“And chaste,” the Aes Sedai pronounced in a satisfied tone. “Good. It is not against Tower law exactly, for an Aes Sedai to consort with a man in such a manner, but it is heavily frowned upon. Your sense of propriety will serve you well. In Tar Valon.”

“I’m not—not going ...” Nynaeve’s words cut off with a shameful whimper when Moiraine fingers began rubbing her tender folds.

“No? Perhaps it is that you want this then?”

“No!”

Moiraine gave her bottom a light slap. Nynaeve quivered in outrage. “But you would pass up the one thing that could prevent me from taking you whenever I pleased. Why so, if you do not want to be taken? So badly that you would give up all that you could be. I understand. Even among the Aes Sedai there are such women. I once knew a Novice named Pritalle who would commit a new offense almost every other day, not because she was a poor student, but because she wanted to be sent to the Mistress of Novices ... and disciplined ...”

“I’m not like that!” Nynaeve denied fiercely.

“Yet here we are ...”

Nynaeve felt Moiraine breathe against her private parts. Something warm and wet touched her lower lips and she quivered again. In outrage, only outrage. The Aes Sedai kissed her there and Nynaeve bunched her fists, determined not to cry out.

The woman’s tongue was sinfully nimble. She quickly found Nynaeve’s secret bud and teased it mercilessly, sending jolts of forbidden, unwelcome pleasure shooting through her body. A slender finger slid inside her moist slit and stroked her skilfully, stirring her pot just the way it should.

Moiraine played her body masterfully, through talent or practice, Nynaeve could not say; but try as she did she could not prevent the pleasure that quickly built within her under the Aes Sedai’s ministrations, demanding a release she would not—would not!—give.

Her hard nipples pressed against the cold table as she thrashed. It was useless, the Aes Sedai was too powerful for her, too skilled, too damnably beautiful and intelligent and rich and ... Nynaeve couldn’t hold it any more, couldn’t fight it. A loud squeak escaped her clenched teeth as she came to orgasm, right in Moiraine’s face.

She sprawled limply on the table as waves of shame and pleasure coursed through her.

Moiraine rose and perched on the table beside the flushed, sweaty, exposed Wisdom. She watched her occasional helpless twitch and patted her bare bottom sympathetically. “You have a pleasant taste, Nynaeve al’Meara. Perhaps, when my tasks allow, I shall visit you again. In your Theren. While you are gathering your herbs. There is a certain charm to grubby-kneed girls.” Nynaeve did not meet her eyes, but she felt her cheeks darkened. Anger kindled again in her breast.

“A powerful Aes Sedai could never be treated so, of course. But you prefer a different fate,” Moiraine chided her, almost sounding disappointed. “So be it.”

The invisible ropes of Power were gone from Nynaeve’s limbs. She straightened up, her skirts falling to a decent level once more. She quickly fixed her bodice and reached back to do up her buttons. Moiraine watched her expressionlessly. For an instant she wondered what the woman would do if she pounced on her, fists swinging, grabbed her by her silky black hair and gave her a taste of her own medicine. Made her whimper shamefully! But Nynaeve had already seen what happened when a non-channeler tried to fight an Aes Sedai. She tightened her lips angrily and glared at the woman’s modest bosom.

It only made her angrier when she realised her drawers were still puddled around her ankles. She would have to raise her own skirts in order to set herself to rights, with the damnable woman looking at her and judging.

An absurd little flash of gratitude touched her when the Aes Sedai climbed from her tabletop perch and glided towards Captain Danmielle’s chair. The woman made another little sound of disappointment as she passed within Nynaeve’s reach.  _ As if she had not made her disregard plain enough already! _ As soon as her back was turned, Nynaeve seized the moment and pulled up her underwear. Her heart finally started to slow to a more normal pace than the wild race it had been on for the past minutes.

Gathering her wits along with her dignity, Nynaeve shot a sidelong glare Moiraine’s way. The Aes Sedai sat with her legs crossed at the knee, calmly wiping Nynaeve’s juices from her lips, and with them the proof of her shame.  _ This isn’t over witch. Do you think I’ll let you get away with treating me like this? Do you think you can come back to my home and do whatever you please? Not hardly! I’ll learn how to use your damned One Power, and then you’ll get what’s coming to you! _

If the Aes Sedai could hear Nynaeve’s thoughts she gave no sign of it. She seemed completely disinterested in her, actually, now that she had had her way with her. It was perhaps the most insulting thing Nynaeve had ever seen.  _ Oh, we will have a reckoning someday, you and I _ , she vowed.

Moiraine’s eyes tracked something only she could see. Abruptly Nynaeve heard voices from beyond the cabin door. They sounded to be in mid-conversation, but she could have sworn the whole ship had been silent up until just a second ago.

She smoothed her skirts and stepped hastily to the side, hoping nothing of what had just happened showed on her face.

The cabin door opened and Lan entered, crouching slightly to fit under the low ceiling; there could not have been an inch of height between he and Rand, and Rand had been the tallest person she had ever met until the Warder came to the Theren. Lan had a narrow form slung over one broad shoulder. Captain Danmielle hovered behind, making some dire threat about what would become of anyone who puked in her cabin, but the Warder ignored her. He heeled the door shut while the captain was still mid-tirade.

Moiraine rose swiftly from her chair. No sooner had the Warder deposited his catch on the table than she set hands to the man’s chest. It was, as they had all assumed, Thom Merrilin. His deeply-lined face was paler than she had ever seen it, paler even than it had been when they were surrounded by an army of hunting Trollocs. Her hands twitched, instinct demanding she gather her medicines and do something to help him. But she remembered Tam al’Thor and knew that this wound was beyond her power to heal.  _ Yet _ , she thought.  _ Beyond my Power, yet _ . She narrowed her eyes as she watched the Aes Sedai work.

Thom was shivering violently, and whatever Moiraine did to him made his shivers worse at first. But then, bit by bit they eased off and his breathing started to become less laboured.

Moiraine tsked. She set her fingers lightly to the gleeman’s knee, a small frown forming between her narrow brows. “He will live,” she said, “but I fear too much time has passed for me to repair the knee completely. A pity. Even in his twilight years he was so nimble.”

Nynaeve might have made some cutting comment about the One Power then. But the words died in her throat. The Warder flicked a glance towards her as though surprised she had held her tongue. Fool man! As if she was one to grouch for no reason!

“Was there any trouble removing him from the militia’s custody?” Moiraine asked.

“None,” the Warder answered flatly. “But we should be gone from Whitebridge within the hour. At most.” She nodded in response.

Lan reached a hand under his coat and produced a pair of knives. They looked expensive, with brightly polished silver on the quillons and pommels. “These may interest you. The source of our fire. I tried to break one against a wall on my way here but could not even scratch the blade.” He raised an eyebrow at Moiraine.

“Power-wrought steel,” the Aes Sedai said, with a raised brow. “I wonder where Master Merrilin acquired such a rarity. One of many questions that will have to go unanswered alas.”

Nynaeve abruptly recalled the fight they had been forced into before reaching Shadar Logoth. She had never been so terrified in her life. It still shamed her that she had done so little to help. Lan had duelled a Fade and won, sparks flying from his blade each time it touched the Myrddraal’s tainted steel. Had Thom done the same? And with such small blades! It was a miracle he had survived.

With one last, regretful look at Thom, the Aes Sedai turned to the door. “Leave the knives with him, and let us be going. I would have liked to hear exactly what took place in Whitebridge, and what became of the two boys, but thankfully I do not need Master Merrilin’s report to find them. And haste is very much required.”

Lan’s long legs brought him to the cabin door before Moiraine and he led the way out onto the deck. The sun was just beginning to set and Captain Danmielle was plainly impatient to depart.

Moiraine approached her with Lan looming at her shoulder. “There has been a new development, captain. I must change my plans.”

Danmielle’s lined mouthed thinned. “Change them in what way?”

Moiraine’s voice was calm. “I will not be travelling with you to Tear. My business calls me elsewhere. But you shall still be hiring out your cabin. My other companion is much too indisposed to accompany me so he must remain with you. The money I have already given you for four passengers should be more than enough to see to his shelter, sustenance ... and his safe delivery to the inn called the Star. I will hear of it when he arrives. And should he not ... a great many will hear of you, from Whitebridge to Tear to Illian, Aringill, Ebou Dar ... and Tar Valon itself.”

The captain had begun to sweat, despite the cool evening air. “You’ll get what you paid for,” she said sourly, working her shoulders as though a hard knot had suddenly formed in her back. “I’ll deliver him to this Star myself. I pay my dues.”

“Good. My people will contact me after your arrival, Captain. Do not fail me.” With that, the Aes Sedai turned her back and glided down the gangplank, the Warder close on her heels. With a resigned sigh, Nynaeve trailed after them to where their horses waited.


	13. Play for Your Supper

CHAPTER 30: Play for Your Supper

Rand narrowed his eyes, watching the dust-tail that rose ahead, three or four bends of the road away. Mat was already headed toward the wild hedgerow alongside the roadway. Its evergreen leaves and densely intermeshed branches would hide them as well as a stone wall, if they could find a way through to the other side. The other side of the road was marked by the sparse brown skeletons of head-high bushes, and beyond was an open field for half a mile to the woods. He tried to judge the speed of the dust-tail, and the wind.

A sudden gust swirled road dust up around him, obscuring everything. He blinked and adjusted the plain, dark scarf across his nose and mouth. None too clean now, it made his face itch, but it kept him from inhaling dust with every breath. A farmer had given it to him, a long-faced man with grooves in his cheeks from worry.

“I don’t know what you’re running from,” he had said with an anxious frown, “and I don’t want to. You understand? My family.” Abruptly the farmer had dug two long scarves out of his coat pocket and pushed the tangle of wool at them. “It’s not much, but here. Belong to my boys. They have others. You don’t know me, understand? It’s hard times.”

Rand treasured the scarf. The list of kindnesses he had made in his mind in the days since Whitebridge was a short one, and he did not believe it would get much longer.

Mat, all but his eyes hidden by the scarf wrapped around his head, hunted swiftly along the tall hedgerow, pulling at the leafy branches. Rand touched the heron-marked hilt at his belt, but let his hand fall away. Once already, cutting a hole through a hedge had almost given them away. The dust-tail was moving toward them, and staying together too long. Not the wind. At least it was not raining. Rain settled the dust. No matter how hard it fell, it never turned the hard-packed road to mud, but when it rained there was no dust. Dust was the only warning they had before whoever it was came close enough to hear.

“Here,” Mat called softly. He seemed to step right through the hedge. Rand hurried to the spot Someone had cut a hole there, once. It was partly grown over, and from three feet away it looked as solid as the rest, but close up there was only a thin screen of branches. As he pushed through, he heard horses coming.

He crouched behind the barely covered opening, clutching the hilt of his sword as the horsemen rode by. Five ... six ... seven of them. Plainly dressed men, but swords and spears said they were not villagers. Some wore leather tunics with metal studs, and two had round steel caps. Merchants’ guards, perhaps, between hirings. Perhaps.

One of them casually swung his eyes toward the hedge as he went by the opening, and Rand bared an inch of his sword. Mat snarled silently like a cornered badger, squinting above his scarf. His hand was under his coat; he always clutched the dagger from Shadar Logoth when there was danger. Rand was no longer sure if it was to protect himself or to protect the ruby-hilted dagger.

The riders passed at a slow trot, going somewhere with a purpose but not too great a haste.

Rand waited until the clop of the hooves faded before he stuck his head cautiously back through the hole. The dust-tail was well down the road, going the way they had come. Westward the sky was clear. He climbed out onto the roadway, watching the column of dust move east.

“Not after us,” he said, halfway between a statement and a question.

Mat scrambled out after him, looking warily in both directions. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.” Rand had no idea which way he meant it, but he nodded. Maybe. It had not begun like this, their journey down the Caemlyn Road.

For a long time after leaving Whitebridge, Rand would suddenly find himself staring back down the road behind them. Sometimes he would see someone who made his breath catch, a tall, skinny man hurrying up the road, or a lanky, white-haired fellow up beside the driver on a wagon, but it was always a pack-peddler, or farmers making their way to market, never Thom Merrilin. Hope faded as the days passed.

There was considerable traffic on the road, wagons and carts, people on horses and people afoot. They came singly and in groups, a train of merchants’ wagons or a dozen horsemen together. They did not jam the road, and often there was nothing in sight except the tall but leafless trees lining the hard-packed roadbed, but there were certainly more people travelling than Rand had ever seen in the Theren. He had been torn between wonder and apprehension at first; so many strange people, going to strange places, to do strange things. The wonder had long-since faded.

Most travelled in the same direction that they did, westward toward Caemlyn. Sometimes they got a ride in a farmer’s wagon for a little distance, a mile, or five, but more often they walked. Men on horseback they avoided; when they spotted even one rider in the distance they scrambled off the road and hid until he was past. None ever wore a black cloak, and Rand did not really think a Fade would let them see him coming, but there was no point in taking chances.

The first village after Whitebridge looked so much like Emond’s Field that Rand’s steps dragged when he saw it. Thatched roofs with high peaks, and goodwives in their aprons gossiping over the fences between their houses, and children playing on a village green. The women’s hair hung unbraided around their shoulders, and other small things were different, too, but the whole together was like home. Cows cropped on the green, and geese waddled self-importantly across the road. The children tumbled, laughing, in the dust where the grass was gone altogether. They did not even look around when Rand and Mat went by. That was another thing that was different. Strangers were no oddity there; two more did not draw so much as a second glance. Village dogs only raised their heads to sniff as he and Mat passed; none stirred themselves.

It was coming on evening as they went through the village, and he felt a pang of homesickness as lights appeared in the windows.  _ No matter what it looks like _ , a small voice whispered in his mind,  _ it isn’t really home. Even if you go into one of those houses Tam won’t be there. If he was, could you look him in the face? You know, now, don’t you? Except for little things like where you come from and who you are. No fever-dreams. _ He hunched his shoulders against taunting laughter inside his head.  _ You might as well stop _ , the voice snickered.  _ One place is as good as another when you aren’t from anywhere, and the Dark One has you marked. _

Mat tugged at his sleeve, but he pulled loose and stared at the houses. He did not want to stop, but he did want to look and remember.  _ So much like home, but you’ll never see that again, will you? _

Mat yanked at him again. His face was taut, the skin around his mouth and eyes white. “Come on,” Mat muttered. “Come on.” He looked at the village as if he suspected something of hiding there “Come on. We can’t stop yet.”

Rand turned in a complete circle, taking in the whole village, and sighed. They were not very far from Whitebridge. If the Myrddraal could get past Whitebridge’s wall without being seen, it would have no trouble at all searching this small village. He let himself be drawn on into the countryside beyond, until the thatch-roofed houses were left behind.

Night fell before they found a spot by moonlight, under some bushes still bearing their dead leaves. They filled their bellies with cold water from a shallow rivulet not far away and curled up on the ground, wrapped in their cloaks, without a fire. A fire could be seen; better to be cold. The slept back to back, sharing warmth, neither in the mood to share more.

Uneasy with his memories, Rand woke often, and every time he could hear Mat muttering and tossing in his sleep. He did not dream, that he could remember, but he did not sleep well.

That was not the only night they spent with just their cloaks to protect them from the wind, and sometimes the rain, cold and soaking. It was not the only meal they made from nothing but cold water. Between them they had enough coins for a few meals at an inn, but a bed for the night would take too much. Things cost more outside the Theren, even more so this side of the Arindrelle than in Baerlon. What money they had left had to be saved for an emergency.

One afternoon Rand mentioned the dagger with the ruby in its hilt, while they were trudging down the road with bellies too empty to rumble, and the sun low and weak, and nothing in view for the coming night but more bushes. Dark clouds built up overhead promised rain during the night. He hoped they were lucky; maybe no more than an icy drizzle.

He went on a few steps before he realized that Mat had stopped. He stopped, too, wriggling his toes in his boots. At least his feet felt warm. He eased the straps across his shoulders. His bow, his blanketroll and Thom’s bundled cloak were not heavy, but even a few pounds weighed on you after miles on an empty stomach. He had abandoned the good leather saddlebags days before, after moving their contents elsewhere. “What’s the matter, Mat?” he said.

“Why are you so anxious to sell it?” Mat demanded angrily. “I found it, after all. You ever think I might like to keep it? For a while, anyway. If you want to sell something, sell that bloody sword!”

Rand rubbed his hand along the heron-marked hilt. “My father gave this sword to me. It was his. I wouldn’t ask you to sell something your father gave you. Blood and ashes, Mat, do you like going hungry? Anyway, even if I could find somebody to buy it, how much would a sword bring? What would a farmer want with a sword? That ruby would fetch enough to take us all the way to Caemlyn in a carriage. Maybe all the way to Tar Valon. And we’d eat every meal in an inn, and sleep every night in a bed. Maybe you like the idea of walking halfway across the world and sleeping on the ground?” He glared at Mat, and his friend glared back.

They stood like that in the middle of the road until Mat suddenly gave an uncomfortable shrug, and dropped his eyes to the road. “Who would I sell it to, Rand? A farmer would have to pay in chickens; we couldn’t buy a carriage with chickens. And if I even showed it in any village we’ve been through, they’d probably think we stole it. The Light knows what would happen then.”

After a minute Rand nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I know it. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s only that I’m hungry and my feet hurt.”

“Mine, too.” They started down the road again, walking even more wearily than before. The wind gusted up, blowing dust in their faces. “Mine, too.” Mat coughed.

Farms did provide some meals and a few nights out of the cold. A haystack was nearly as warm as a room with a fire, at least compared to lying under the bushes, and a haystack, even one without a tarp over it, kept all but the heaviest rain off, if you dug yourself in deeply enough. Sometimes Mat tried his hand at stealing eggs, and once he attempted to milk a cow left unattended, staked out on a long rope to crop in a field. Most farms had dogs, though, and farm dogs were watchful. A two-mile run with baying hounds at their heels was too high a price for two or three eggs as Rand saw it, especially when the dogs sometimes took hours to go away and let them down out of the tree where they had taken shelter. The hours were what he regretted most. It was disheartening how quickly you could resort to thievery when you were hungry.

He did not really like doing it, wary of strangers as he had grown, but rather than steal Rand preferred to approach a farmhouse openly in broad daylight. Now and again they had the dogs set on them anyway, without a word being said, for the rumours and the times made everyone who lived apart from other people nervous; but often an hour or so chopping wood or hauling water would earn a meal and a bed, even if the bed was a pile of straw in the barn. But an hour or two doing chores was an hour or two of daylight when they were standing still, an hour or two for the Myrddraal to catch up. Sometimes he wondered how many miles a Fade could cover in an hour. He begrudged every minute of it—though admittedly not so much when he was wolfing down a goodwife’s hot soup. And when they had no food, knowing they had spent every possible minute moving toward Caemlyn did not do much to soothe an empty belly. Rand could not make up his mind if it was worse to lose time or go hungry, but Mat went beyond worrying about his belly or pursuit.

“What do we know about them, anyway?” Mat demanded one afternoon while they were mucking out stalls on a small farm.

“Light, Mat, what do they know about us?” Rand sneezed. They were working stripped to the waist, and sweat and straw covered them both liberally, and motes of straw-dust hung in the air. “What I know is they’ll give us some roast lamb and a real bed to sleep in.”

Mat dug his hayfork into the straw and manure and gave a sidelong frown at the farmer, coming from the back of the barn with a bucket in one hand and his milking stool in the other. A stooped old man with skin like leather and thin, grey hair, the farmer slowed when he saw Mat looking at him, then looked away quickly and hurried on out of the barn, slopping milk over the rim of the bucket in his haste.

“He’s up to something, I tell you,” Mat said. “See the way he wouldn’t meet my eye? Why are they so friendly to a couple of wanderers they never laid eyes on before? Tell me that.”

“His wife says we remind her of their grandsons. And anyone might avoid the eye of someone who was scowling at them the way you are. Will you stop worrying about them? What we have to worry about is behind us. I hope.”

“He’s up to something,” Mat muttered.

When they finished, they washed up at the trough in front of the barn, their shadows stretching long with the sinking sun. Rand towelled off with his shirt as they walked to the farmhouse. The farmer met them at the door; he leaned on a quarterstaff in a too-casual manner. Behind him his wife clutched her apron and peered past his shoulder, chewing her lip. Rand sighed; he did not think he and Mat reminded them of their grandsons any longer.

“Our sons are coming to visit tonight,” the old man said. “All four of them. I forgot. They’re all four coming. Big lads. Strong. Be here any time, now. I’m afraid we don’t have the bed we promised you.”

His wife thrust a small bundle wrapped in a napkin past him. “Here. It’s bread, and cheese, and pickles, and lamb. Enough for two meals, maybe. Here.” Her wrinkled face asked them to please take it and go.

Rand took the bundle. “Thank you. I understand. Come on, Mat.”

Mat followed him, grumbling while he pulled his shirt over his head. Rand thought it best to cover as many miles as they could before stopping to eat. The old farmer had a dog.

Three days later, while they were still working, they had the dogs set on them. The dogs, and the farmer, and his two sons waving cudgels chased them out to the Caemlyn Road and half a mile down it before giving up. They had barely had time to snatch up their belongings and run. The farmer had carried an odd, short-looking bow with a broadhead arrow nocked. Rand’s own bow was in his hand and his quiver hung at his waist. He kept glancing backwards as he ran, a prickling tension between his shoulders warning him again and again that an arrow was about to strike. Prodded by that maddening sensation it was all he could do not to wheel around, and see how the ingrate’s shooting and his sad little bow matched up to a Therener’s.

“Don’t come back, hear!” the farmer had shouted after them. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but don’t let me see your shifty eyes again!”

Mat had started to turn back, fumbling at his quiver, but Rand pulled him on. “Are you crazy? What are we going to do, kill him?” Mat gave him a sullen look, but at least he kept running.

They had met the fellow who gave them their scarves the next day. Neither lad had greeted him in a particularly friendly manner, but the man had done well by them nonetheless. Rand tried to focus on that, on the kindness of the few instead of the meanness of the many, but it wasn’t easy.

eHeHe sometimes wondered if it was worthwhile stopping at farms. The farther they went, the more suspicious of strangers Mat became, and the less he was able to hide it. Or bothered to. The meals got skimpier for the same work, and sometimes not even the barn was offered as a place to sleep. But then a solution to all their problems came to Rand, or so it seemed, and it came at Grinwell’s farm.

Mistress Grinwell and her husband had nine children, the eldest a daughter not more than a year younger than Rand and Mat. Master Grinwell was a sturdy man, and with his children he probably had no need of any more help, but he looked them up and down, taking in their travel-stained clothes and dusty boots, and allowed as how he could always find work for more hands. Mistress Grinwell said that if they were going to eat at her table, they would not do it in those filthy things. She was about to do laundry, and some of her husband’s old clothes would fit them well enough for working. She smiled when she said it, and for a minute she looked to Rand just like Mistress al’Vere, though her hair was yellow; it reminded him a little of Alene, but her hair had been a much darker shade than Mistress Grinwell’s. Even Mat seemed to lose some of his tension when her smile touched him. The eldest daughter was another matter.

Dark-haired, big-eyed, and pretty, Else grinned impudently at them whenever her parents were not looking. While they worked, moving barrels and sacks of grain in the barn, she hung over a stall door, humming to herself and chewing the end of one long pigtail, watching them. Rand she watched especially. He tried to ignore her, but after a few minutes he put on the shirt Master Grinwell had loaned him. It was tight across the shoulders and too short, but it was better than nothing. Else laughed out loud when he tugged it on. He began to think that this time it would not be Mat’s fault when they were chased off.

_ Perrin would know how to handle this _ , he thought.  _ He’d make some offhand comment, and pretty soon she’d be laughing at his jokes instead of mooning around where her father can see _ .

Only he could not think of any offhand comment, or any jokes, either. Whenever he looked in her direction, she smiled at him in a way that would have her father loosing the dogs on them if he saw. Once she told him she liked tall men. All the boys on the farms around there were short. Mat gave a nasty snicker. Wishing he could think of a joke, Rand tried to concentrate on his hayfork.

The younger children, at least, were a blessing in Rand’s eyes. Mat’s wariness always eased a little when there were children around. After supper they all settled in front of the fireplace, with Master Grinwell in his favourite chair thumbing his pipe full of tabac and Mistress Grinwell fussing with her sewing box and the shirts she had washed for him and Mat. Mat dug out Thom’s coloured balls and began to juggle. He never did that unless there were children. The children laughed when he pretended to be dropping the balls, snatching them at the last minute, and they clapped for fountains and figure-eights and a six-ball circle that he really did almost drop. But they took it in good part, Master Grinwell and his wife applauding as hard as their children. When Mat was done, bowing around the room with as many flourishes as Thom might have made, Rand took Thom’s flute from its case.

He could never handle the instrument without a pang of sadness. Touching its gold-and-silver scrollwork was like touching Thom’s memory. He never handled the harp except to see that it was safe and dry—Thom had always said the harp was beyond a farmboy’s clumsy hands—but whenever a farmer allowed them to stay, he always played one tune on the flute after supper. It was just a little something extra to pay the farmer, and maybe a way of keeping Thom’s memory fresh.

With a laughing mood already set by Mat’s juggling, he played “Three Girls in the Meadow.” Master and Mistress Grinwell clapped along, and the smaller children danced around the floor, even the smallest boy, who could barely walk, stomping his feet in time. He knew he would win no prizes at Bel Tine, but after Thom’s teaching he would not be embarrassed to enter.

Else was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, and as he lowered the flute after the last note, she leaned forward with a long sigh and smiled at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but one of her brothers interrupted her, a yellow-haired lad of about twelve. “Do you know ‘Coming Home From Tarwin’s Gap?’ ” he asked.

Rand had picked up the leather case to put the flute away, but with a shrug and a smile he put the flute back to his lips and played the song the boy asked for, then another, and another. Else Grinwell kept watching him with oddly satisfied look on her face. He played “The Wind That Shakes the Willow,” and “Mistress Aynora’s Rooster,” and “The Old Black Bear.” He played every song he could think of, but she never took her eyes off him. She never said anything, either, but she watched, and smiled.

It was late when Master Grinwell finally stood up, chuckling and rubbing his hands together. “Well, this has been rare fun, but it’s way past our bedtime. You travelling lads make your own hours, but morning comes early on a farm. I’ll tell you lads, I have paid good money at an inn for no better entertainment than I’ve had this night. For worse, come to think of it.”

Mistress Grinwell picked up her youngest boy, who had long since fallen asleep in front of the fire. “We’ve no spare rooms I’m afraid, but the barn is well-made if you don’t mind a bit of straw.”

“That would be most kind, Mistress Grinwell,” Rand said.

Else ducked her head and grinned to herself.

Master Grinwell nodded. “I do wish I could hear more of that flute. And your juggling, too. I like that. You know, there’s a little task you could help with tomorrow, and—”

“They’ll be wanting an early start, father,” Mistress Grinwell cut in. “Arien is the next village the way they’re going, and if they intend to try their luck performing at the inn there, they’ll have to walk all day to get there before dark.”

It had never occurred to Rand to barter the skills Thom had taught them for room or board. He didn’t think them good enough that anyone would be willing to pay, but even if all they could get was a bed for the night he would be grateful.

“Yes, mother,” Master Grinwell, “you’re quite right. Well, best of luck to you both if we don’t meet again in the morning.”

The barn proved as comfy as the Grinwells had promised. Rand was warm enough that he kicked off his boots and tossed his shirt aside to sleep in only his trousers, atop a cloak stuffed with straw.

“I wonder if you’ll have a visitor in the night?” Mat drawled knowingly. He snorted. “A better sort of visit than those we usually get, at least. I doubt any of the Grinwells are Darkfriends. Probably not, anyway. You can’t be sure ...”

“I’m sure,” Rand said stoutly. He could not believe Darkfriends would be so kind to strangers. He ignored the other thing that Mat implied. Honestly, he hoped there would be no visitors of any kind that night.

But there were.

It had been dark for several hours and Rand was sleeping when the door of the barn creaked open. He came awake instantly, in a way that would have surprised him mere weeks ago. Wariness was fast becoming normality. He heard Mat stir beside him and knew he wasn’t the open one who had heard the noise. His sword and bow were nearby. He chose the sword, and eased it slightly out of its scabbard, waiting.

Someone mounted the loft ladder. The two lads got up on their elbows, staring intently at the rails as they moved slightly beneath the climber’s weight. It was a clear moonlit night and the half-closed shutters of the barn let in enough silvery light to show clearly whatever approached. Rand tightened his grip on the sword-hilt.

Else Grinwell’s dark-haired head appeared at the top of the ladder. She smiled widely when she saw them both awake and watching. Rand let out a soft sigh, mostly of relief, but with a touch of trepidation, too.  _ How am I supposed to handle this? _ He had a feeling he knew why Else was here in the dead of night.

The sound Mat made was more of a soft laugh than a sigh. But Rand thought he heard relief in that as well.

“You’re both awake,” she whispered. “Good. It’s chilly out there.” She was wearing only her shift and her large breasts swayed visibly beneath it as she padded across the loft and sat beside Rand’s pallet. Without so much as asking, she took Rand’s hand in hers and rubbed her palms against it to warm herself.

Mat whistled low. “You’re an adventurous one, out exploring the wilds at this hour.”

Else grinned. “Well it can get a bit dull on the farm. We hardly ever have such interesting guests. I thought I’d come over for a visit.”

“We’ll be around for a little while yet, long enough to get breakfast at least,” Rand offered. Else seemed a harmless sort, but he hardly knew her. The thought of doing what she was, heavily, implying she wanted to do with a stranger made him feel more than a little uncomfortable.

“Oh, lots of time yet until breakfast,” Mat said hastily, shooting a warning look Rand’s way. “But I suppose you wouldn’t want to be too tired once morning arrives.”

“Oh no,” Else agreed, “that wouldn’t do at all.” She looked back and forth between them. “But you’ve lost your shirts. Now I feel all rude,” she pouted. Then she swiftly pulled her shift up over her head and let it fall to the planking.

She was a big girl, was Else Grinwell. Not fat, but well fed. Heavy breasts tipped by large dark nipples hung above a slightly-rounded belly; meaty thighs hid that which waited beneath her dark triangle of pubic hair. She giggled as they took in the sight of her naked body, an excited grin lighting up her face.

Else leaned in and kissed Rand. He didn’t push her away, that would have been rude and cruel, but he didn’t return the kiss either. This whole thing still sat poorly with him. Though he’d be plain lying if he claimed the sight of Else in the nude hadn’t caused a stirring in his groin.

She didn’t seem to notice his reluctance at all. “You are so pretty,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen a man who looked so pretty.” She glanced at Mat. “Your friend’s cute, too.”

Mat reached over and boldly ran his hands over the globes of Else’s butt. She giggled again, rising up to kneel on Rand’s pallet, displaying herself to Mat’s eager eyes. She ran her hands through Rand’s hair as she kissed him, her tongue exploring his mouth. Her insistent fondling unbalanced him and he was forced to raise a hand to hold her steady. He would have sworn on his mother’s grave it was only happenstance that brought it to Else’s breast. She moaned loudly at the contact and her tongue moved even more forcefully in his mouth.

She was a hungry girl, was Else Grinwell. Mat was all-too happy to feed her. If he felt any of Rand’s discomfort over doing it with a stranger, it certainly didn’t show in the way he yanked his trousers down to his knees. His long cock was hard as a rod and he wasted no time before grabbing the girl by her hips and ramming himself into her.

Else stopped kissing Rand and cried out in pleasure. “Such a nice boy,” she giggled. “Are you a nice boy, too?” She unbuttoned Rand’s trousers and reached inside. “Oooo, a very nice boy.”

She pulled his hard cock out and grinned as she took in the sight of it. Rand sighed out the last of his reluctance. It still felt a bit wrong, but where was the harm really? And he was undeniably horny.

Else ran her eyes over Rand’s naked form as Mat began to ride her hard. She looked well pleased with herself, though whether it was from what she saw, felt or both, he could not say.

He felt her hot, panting breath on his member when she took it in her hand and lowered her mouth towards it. His eyes drifted closed when her warm, wet mouth enveloped the tip of his cock, and when she began sucking upon him a small groan escaped his lips.

Mat reached around Else’s wide hips and began rubbing her crotch for her, just the way Marin had taught Rand to. He spared a moment to wonder where his friend had learned that. But the girl’s moans sent a shiver of pleasure down Rand’s spine, muffled as they were by his cock in her mouth, and that drove the thought from his mind.

Life on the Grinwell farm must have been a frustrating experience for Else, because she came to orgasm very quickly. When she did, she raised her mouth from Rand’s member only long enough to moan a loud “Oh, yes!” before going right back to sucking upon him. But now she kept her eyes open as she did so, looking at Rand all the while.

Mat grinned at her cry and went right on pounding away at her. Rand watched her rounded buttocks shake as his friend’s hips slapped against them.

She came again before they were done. This time she did not released Rand from her mouth, but moaned against him, and it was that that brought him close to the edge.

Mat bottomed out in her and tossed back his head. He let out a long sigh, teeth gritted, and Rand knew he was coming inside the girl. “I needed that,” he whispered. Else turned her head to look back at him when she felt him spurting in her, she smirked at what she saw, then looked to Rand once more.

She took his shaft in both her strong hands, strengthened by years of farm work, and began pumping him. She watched his face as she did so, a wide, naughty smile on her lips. Somehow she knew when he reached his limit. She swiftly lowered her mouth to his cock once more, eyes closed this time. Rand spilt his seed in the strange farmgirl’s mouth, trying and failing to stifle his groan. She gobbled it all down, every last drop.

When they separated all three youths were breathing heavily, and sweat was shining on their moonlit bodies.

Else licked her lips and grinned back and forth between the two boys. “I wish all our visitors were as much fun as you two.”

Mat stretched out, looking more relaxed that Rand had seen him since Shadar Logoth. “I would have said the same if you’d visited our place back home. And brought a friend as pretty as yourself.” Else laughed.

Rand tried to share in their satisfaction, but now that his lust was sated that odd feeling had come creeping back. He couldn’t quite explain it, but something just felt wrong. Guilt, probably.  _ The Wisdom would have a fit if she could see us now _ .

He was the first to fix his clothes, but with their exertions ended, and the chill night air on their skins, the other two were not long in following. Else brushed straw from her knees and her bottom before pulling her shift down over her head again and hiding herself from their watching eyes.

She smiled. “I’d better be getting back to my room. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

“For sure,” Mat said. “Maybe you could walk with us when we leave, out past the trees on the edge of your mother’s farm ...”

She carefully lowered a foot to the ladder that led down from the loft. “I doubt my parents would allow that!” As her face disappeared from view she grinned and added, “Unfortunately.”

They listened until the door of the barn creaked open and closed. Then Mat let out a soft chuckle, “Now if all the people we met were as friendly as her, this whole being chased out of our home thing wouldn’t be half bad.” He went to the window to watch Else make her way back to the farmhouse.

Rand smiled wryly. It was good to see Mat acting more like himself. He’d gotten very suspicious lately. But then, they both had. “I hate to question your priorities, old friend, but I could suffer a bit of celibacy if it meant less Fades and Trollocs in my life. Or a lot of celibacy even.”

“Trollocs,” Mat said.

“Nasty things. You know, I think they’d be less horrific if they would just pick a species. Be a giant cat, or a giant bird, or an evil-looking man even ... but don’t be a little bit of everything all mixed randomly together,” he shook his head.

“Trollocs,” Mat repeated, in an insistent whisper.

Rand’s smile died. His skin started crawling and he scrambled to join Mat in the window, snatching up his bow and quiver as he went.

He saw nothing at first except the familiar terrain of the Grinwell farm, lit by the faint moonlight. Else was tiptoeing towards the front door, no-one and no thing near her. Mat touched his shoulder and pointed towards the eastern pasture. Then he saw them, large dark shapes moving slowly, cautiously towards the farmstead. He couldn’t see any details, just their bulky shadows. They could have been men come to visit, or to rob; they could have been stray cattle even. But they weren’t. Somehow he knew they weren’t. His skin was trying to crawl right off his bones.

A horrible realisation struck him. “We can’t run,” he whispered. “The Grinwells.”

“Blood and ashes,” Mat cursed hoarsely. He darted to fetch his bow. Rand fished a string from his pocket and hastily set to stringing his bow, one end fronting his right ankle as he bent the limb behind his left leg.

The Trollocs edged closer. Their creeping advance seemed less confident somehow, compared to the way they had rampaged through the Theren and the empty lands west of Baerlon.  _ We are deep into Andor now _ , Rand realised,  _ they don’t want the Queen to know they are here. She’d probably send an army after them. _

The thought gave him heart. So did the slowness of their movement. Even in the dark they would be easy targets. The first few of them, at least. He eased the shutter more fully open as Mat rejoined him at the window.

There were four shadows visible. Rand narrowed his eyes and studied the night as best he could, but he could see no more than those four.  _ There could be others climbing up the ladder right now _ . He squashed the thought firmly, seeking and finding the void. “The two to the back first,” he said in a low, emotionless voice. “I’ll take the farthest.”

Mat nodded. He scowled out at the dark figures and nocked his first arrow, his quiver resting near to hand.

The Trollocs did not see the two archers in the barn. Even when a pair of broadhead arrows struck the first of them at centre mass, the others kept advancing on the farmhouse. Only when their—hopefully—dying fellows made some alarmed, pained grunts did the front two stop and look back. By then it was too late. Rand and Mat had drawn and sighted again, and at that ranged, with a stationary target, there was no way they were going to miss. The arrows flew true, and four Trollocs lay upon the field.

Rand waited for the howls of rage from the rest of their hunters. He waited for the Trollocs they had shot to cry out in pain and wake the farmstead. He waited for Else’s shrieks. He waited and listened for what seemed a long time, but the stillness of the night remained unbroken.

Mat’s face was more sweaty than it had been while they were cavorting with Else. “Just the four?” he said at last. “Scouts?”

“Maybe,” Rand said. “This far into Andor, maybe they don’t dare move as openly as before. We should dispose of the bodies.”

Mat gaped. “Who cares about the bodies? I’m not going out there in the dark. We don’t know there aren’t more.”

Rand’s voice was a distant thing, even to him. “It would be best if the Grinwells didn’t awake to find dead, or dying, Trollocs in their field. Not while we are still here at least. Dragging them to that copse of trees to the north should be enough.” He went to get dressed. Mat stared at him all the while.

It was all well and good to say such things while floating in the void, but when he returned to himself and tried to put his plan into action Rand found his limbs had grown treacherous. Climbing down the ladder into the murky depths of the barn was a lot harder than he would ever have imagined. His legs did not shake, but they felt disturbingly light, as though not quite attached to his body.

He eased open the barn door, sword at his hip and bow in hand, an arrow held ready to nock. He waited cautiously before venturing out, watching every shadow and straining his ears.

A light thump behind made him jump. But it was only Mat. He readied his bow and scowled as he followed Rand out into the night.

They crept towards the downed Trollocs as slowly, or more, as they had been creeping towards the farm when Mat spotted them. A long few minutes worth of suspiciously glaring at dark patches of empty darkness passed before they reached the spot where their targets had fallen. Even then Rand lowered his bow and drew Tam’s sword, cautiously leaning over to poke the bodies a few times each, before they relaxed. Slightly.

Dragging the Trolloc bodies away was harder than Rand had anticipated. They were heavy, smelly things, and the touch of their cooling, furred flesh on his was as disturbing as the sight of their inhuman faces would have been, if the dark did not do them the favour of hiding it.

Mat cursed under his breath the whole time, until Rand was tempted to snap at him. He would much rather have listened for anything moving nearby than hear Mat’s carping. But Mat had followed Rand’s fool plan despite his obvious reluctance, and gratitude held his tongue.

Two trips across the field passed without attack from lurking Shadowspawn and Rand finally felt his tension ease. They made their way back towards the barn in blessed silence. But the brief joviality of before was gone. As far as they’d come since Whitebridge, the Fade was still right on their heels. If it was sending Trollocs out in small parties then perhaps they could hope that it didn’t know exactly where they were. But it was still much too close for comfort. They needed to move faster, they needed to put as much distance as they could between them and the Myrddraal.

Rand suggested leaving right then and walking through the night, but Mat pointed out that they hadn’t slept and wouldn’t get far if they were exhausted. He was right but Rand got little sleep that night. He sat on a haybale by the slightly open barn door, his bow in hand, trying to watch the farm for signs of more intruders as he dozed fitfully.


	14. Shelter From the Storm

CHAPTER 32: Shelter from the Storm

Egwene found their time among the  _ Tuatha’an _ delightful. They were such an agreeable people. Even the harshest words were met with a peaceful, accepting response. After the trying conditions of their journey, and the cold sourness of so many of their travelling companions, it was a welcome change.

Perrin didn’t seem to share her views. He fretted over their leisurely pace and often disturbed the peace of the camp by arguing with Elyas. The Travelling People saw no need to hurry; they never did. The colourful wagons did not roll out of a morning until the sun was well above the horizon, and they stopped as early as mid afternoon if they came across a congenial spot. The dogs trotted easily alongside the wagons, and often the children did, too. They had no difficulty in keeping up. Any suggestion that they might go further, or more quickly, was met with laughter, or perhaps, “Ah, but would you make the poor horses work so hard?”

She was a little surprised that Elyas did not share Perrin’s eagerness to leave. Elyas would not ride on the wagons—he preferred to walk, sometimes loping along at the head of the column—but he never suggested leaving, or pressing on ahead. Like most men Elyas didn’t seem to understand what he really wanted. He would make a big fuss about how little he regarded his fellow humans, him with his staring, animal eyes, but he plainly hungered for company more than he wanted to admit.

Obviously that poor, savage creature he travelled with wasn’t able to help him accept what he was. Raine Cinclare was more wolf than woman. Egwene pitied her, but that didn’t make it any less offensive to see a woman behave as she did. Unfortunately there was little she could think to do, yet, that would make the girl behave in a more dignified fashion.

The strange yellow-eyed wanderers in their ragged clothes were so different from the gentle  _ Tuatha’an _ that they stood out wherever they went among the wagons. Even from across the camp there was no mistaking either of them for one of the People, and not just because of clothes. Raine moved with a wary haste, darting forward abruptly before stopping to listen to all around her, only to dart forward again once she was satisfied with what she heard. She had terrible posture, hunching forward almost constantly, which made her appear even shorter than she was. Elyas, on the other hand, moved with a lazy grace, radiating danger as naturally as a fire radiated heat. The contrast with the Travelling People was sharp. Young and old, the People were joyful on their feet. There was no danger in their grace, only delight. Their children darted about filled with the pure zest of moving, of course, but among the  _ Tuatha’an _ , greybeards and grandmothers, too, still stepped lightly, their walk a stately dance no less exuberant for its dignity. All the People seemed on the point of dancing, even when standing still, even during the rare times when there was no music in the camp. Fiddles and flutes, dulcimers and zithers and drums spun harmony and counterpoint around the wagons at almost any hour, in camp or on the move. Joyous songs, merry songs, laughing songs, sad songs; if someone was awake in the camp there was usually music.

One morning over breakfast, when Perrin had brought up the topic of leaving yet again—in that stubborn, thick-headed way of his—Elyas looked at him lazily and said, “You had hard days before you met me, and you’ll have harder still ahead, with Trollocs and Halfmen after you, and Aes Sedai for friends.” He grinned around a mouthful of Ila’s dried-apple pie. “Don’t be in such a bloody hurry to put yourself in Aes Sedai hands.”

Egwene fixed him with her most womanly stare. The kind Nynaeve used when some fool man spoke against the Women’s Circle. She didn’t think she could quite manage one of Moiraine’s. Yet. But Nynaeve’s would do for now. “Aes Sedai business is none of yours Elyas Machera. You should not speak of things you do not, and cannot, understand.”

He laughed at her, rolling on the ground and wheezing in that ridiculous manner of his. She studiously ignored him, lips tight and chin high.

Perrin didn’t notice how rude Elyas was being, he still had that one thought in his head and nothing would budge it. “What if the Fades find us? What’s to keep them from it if we just sit here, waiting? Three wolves can’t hold them off, and the Travelling People won’t be any help. They won’t even defend themselves. The Trollocs will butcher them, and it will be our fault. Anyway, we have to leave them sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”

Elyas calmed himself somewhat. “Something tells me to wait. Just a few days. Relax, lad. Take life as it comes. Run when you have to, fight when you must, rest when you can.”

Anna frowned, looking up from her bowl of broth. “What do you mean, ‘something’?”

He ignored her, even when Egwene sniffed her disapproval. Not that she wanted to support Anna—the girl still hadn’t apologised for insulting her after they crossed the Taren—but the man really had no manners at all, to treat women so disrespectfully. “Have some of this pie,” he said blithely. “Ila doesn’t like me, but she surely feeds me well when I visit. Always good food in the People’s camps.”

“What ‘something’?” Perrin demanded. “If you know something you aren’t telling the rest o us ...”

Elyas frowned at the piece of pie in his hand, then set it down and dusted his hands together. “Something,” he said finally, with a shrug of his shoulders as if he did not understand it completely himself. “Something tells me it’s important to wait. A few more days. I don’t get feelings like this often, but when I do, I’ve learned to trust them. They’ve saved my life in the past. This time it’s different, somehow, but it’s important. That’s clear. You want to run on, then run on. Not me.”

That was all he would say, no matter how many times Perrin asked. He lay about, talking with Raen, eating, napping with his hat over his eyes, and refused to discuss leaving. Something told him to wait. Something told him it was important. Egwene shook her head. Even by the standards of males that was ridiculous reasoning.

When he was not fretting or talking about leaving, Perrin spent most of his time with Anna. The two were rarely apart. She would glimpse them sometimes, walking along beside the wagons and talking about something or other – bows, tracking, or other mannish stuff, she imagined. When they stopped for the night they would often disappear entirely, no doubt off to hunt some rabbits. Egwene didn’t mind. Aram proved much better company.

She liked dancing with the handsome Tinker boy, swinging round and round to the flutes and fiddles and drums, to tunes the  _ Tuatha’an _ had gathered from all over the world, or to the sharp, trilling songs of the Travelling People themselves, sharp whether they were quick or slow. They knew many songs, some she recognized from home, though often under different names than they were called in the Theren. “Three Girls in the Meadow,” for instance, the Tinkers named “Pretty Maids Dancing,” and they said “The Wind From the North” was called “Hard Rain Falling” in some lands and “Berin’s Retreat” in others.

Aram was full of compliments. For how beautiful she was, how lithe, how witty. For the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight and how rich and soft her hair looked. He dared to brush his fingers through it once, and she let him, smiling coyly. It would have been more satisfying if it has been Etsio’s Day, but that seemed to have been and gone while she was busy running for her life.

She admired the way the women danced to some of the slow songs on the third night, as the fires burned low, and the darkness hung close around the wagons, and fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the drums. First one drum, then another, until every drum in the camp kept the same low, insistent beat. There was silence except for the drums. A girl in a red dress swayed into the light, loosening her blue shawl. Strings of beads hung in her dark hair, and she had kicked off her shoes. A flute began the melody, wailing softly, and the girl danced. Outstretched arms spread her shawl behind her; her hips undulated as her bare feet shuffled to the beat of the drums. The girl’s eyes fastened on Perrin, sitting on a nearby log, and her smile was as slow as her dance. She turned in small circles, smiling over her shoulder at him as her hips swayed.

The big apprentice boy swallowed visibly. The heat in his face was not from the fire. A second girl joined the first, the fringe on their shawls shaking in time to the drums and the slow rotation of their hips. They smiled at him, and he cleared his throat hoarsely, his face as red as a beet.

Perrin actually fled from them, sliding down off the log, trying to act as if he were just getting comfortable, but he carefully ended up looking away from the fire, and the dancers. It wasn’t at all the kind of dancing they did back on the Green at Emond’s Field. She liked the effect it had on him, and decided then and there that she would learn the Tinker’s dance, too.

The dancers weren’t done with Perrin. Seemingly taking his shyness as a challenge, they danced into his field of view again, only now they were three. The newest girl gave him a sly wink. They laughed softly at his red-faced response; beads clicked as they tossed their long hair over their shoulders. Then a slightly older woman joined the girls, to show them how it was done.

Anna watched the dance sullenly from the edge of the firelight.  _ She would be pretty enough if she’d just dress properly, and let her hair grow out _ . Though at least Anna’s hair was well-groomed. From the look of Raine’s she probably used a dagger to hack it off, not even bothering with a good pair of scissors. Seeing Anna’s jealousy of the Tinkers, Egwene decided she would make peace with her and help her act more like a woman.  _ But first she’ll have to apologise _ .

According to Ila the girls did not dance that dance often, and the women rarely did, and it was thanks to Perrin’s blushes that they did so every night thereafter.

“I have to thank you,” she heard Elyas tell him once, his tone sober and solemn. “It’s different with you young fellows, but at my age it takes more than a fire to warm my bones.” Perrin scowled at his back as the older man sauntered away.

Egwene sought out the girls who had danced for Perrin, and introduced herself. The first one she found was a black-haired Tinker girl about her own age. A pretty little thing, despite her protruding ears, wearing a green dress that matched her eyes, and a yellow shawl. She had been the second one to join the dance. Egwene smiled as she took the girl’s hands in hers.

“I liked your dance,” she told her. “Would you teach it to me?”

The Tinker smiled shyly, not quite meeting Egwene’s eyes. “Oh, I’m not sure I’d be a very good teacher.”

“I’m sure you could do it,” Egwene persisted. “You’d simply need to apply yourself.”

“Well that’s very nice of you to say,” the girl said cheerfully. “Are you sure you want to learn? When we meet people who aren’t People they sometimes get a bit stabby over our dancing. With their eyes I mean, not other things. Thankfully. Usually.”

Egwene laughed softly, but before she could respond another girl chirped up. “She seems quite sure to me.” The speaker proved to be the first dancer from before. About the same height as Egwene, and about Perrin’s age, she would have looked right at home in the Theren if her hair had been braided and just a slightly darker shade of brown. She turned a friendly smile Egwene’s way. “Hi. I’m Cerani. My friend here is Merile, if she hasn’t told you yet.” Merile blinked as though the thought that she should have introduced herself had only just occurred to her. “We’d be happy to teach you a few dance steps.”

“Great!” Egwene loved to learn new things, especially useful new things.

Cerani gave her friend a fond, if slightly apologetic, smile. “In private we  _ Tuatha’an _ call ourselves ‘the People’. Merile didn’t mean to imply that anyone who isn’t  _ Tuatha’an _ isn’t a person. Please don’t be offended.”

“Oh! Yes, I mean no. Outsiders are people, too. If they want to be ... or not. That is ... well, not that you have to be in order to be. Uhh ... I’ll stop talking now. Oh dear.” Merile trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Egwene laughed out loud. “No, that’s alright. I gathered her meaning.”

“Well,” Cerani said brightly, clapping her hands together. “With dancing, it all starts with the hips ...”

The two Tinker girls clapped the rhythm while she repeated the shuffling steps with a borrowed shawl swaying behind her. It wasn’t that difficult really, but when the girls added the long, rolling hip movements Egwene’s embarrassment overcame her and she started laughing. The three girls fell giggling into one another’s arms. But Egwene persevered, blushes be damned.

They had drawn a small crowd of watchers. Perrin frowned disapprovingly and started to say something, then seemed to discover wisdom and let his teeth click back together. Aram though ... Aram watched her dancing with a hot, hungry gaze in his pretty eyes. The handsome young  _ Tuatha’an _ had given her a string of blue beads that she wore all the time. Worried frowns now replaced the smiles Ila had worn when she first noticed her grandson’s interest in Egwene. She wasn’t sure what the older woman was worried about. Aram was a sweet boy, he would hardly hurt Egwene.

After she parted company with Cerani and Merile, she found Perrin waiting for her behind a nearby wagon. “Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he said. His tone seemed to imply she shouldn’t be.

“Why shouldn’t I?” She fingered the blue beads around her neck, smiling at them. And very much not smiling at Perrin. “We don’t all have to work at being miserable, the way you do. Don’t we deserve a little chance to enjoy ourselves?”

She hadn’t expected to see much more of Perrin when she had decided to indulge his desire for her. How could she have known he would decide to leave the Theren with her? He and the others might have talked of seeing the outside world, but she hadn’t thought any of them would actually have the nerve. She wouldn’t have done it if she had known he would prove this clingy. She had no intentions of spending her days managing his smithy business for him, no matter what he imagined.

Perrin spoke in a low voice. “I thought you wanted to get to Tar Valon. You won’t learn to be an Aes Sedai here.”

_ Was that his idea of being subtle? _ Perrin cared as little for the idea of her becoming Aes Sedai as Rand and Nynaeve did. No, it was something else that had his back up, and she was pretty sure she knew what.  _ The poor, fool boy _ . Not that “fool” and “boy” were any less than two words for the same thing. Egwene tossed her head. “And I thought you didn’t like me wanting to become an Aes Sedai,” she said, too sweetly.

Aram stood not far off—he never got far from Egwene—with his arms folded across his chest, a smile of admiration on his face. Perrin shot him a suspicious look. “Blood and ashes, do you believe we’re safe here? Are these people safe with us here? A Fade could find us anytime.”

Honestly. It would almost have been sweet, if he would only say what he was really thinking. These ham-handed efforts were a bit insulting. Her hand trembled on the beads. She lowered it and took a deep breath. “Whatever is going to happen will happen whether we leave today or next week. That’s what I believe now. Enjoy yourself, Perrin. It might be the last chance we have.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers, hoping he would take the hint.

Then Aram held out his hand to her, and she darted to him, already laughing again. As they ran away to where fiddles sang, Aram flashed a triumphant grin over his shoulder at Perrin as if to say, she is not yours, but she will be mine. Men were such simple creatures. As if she would ever marry a Tinker. What could he possibly offer her besides a pretty face? She would have to let him down gently.

Later, as she stretched her arms above her head, she pondered how best to do that. The dancing had left her quite tired, so she simply lay back on the edge of the bed with her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling. Aram knelt before her, doing his work and doing it surprisingly well.

When he had tugged down his colourful breeches and shown her what he had to offer she had been a little shocked. True, Perrin’s had been a little shorter than Rand and Mat’s, and Mat’s a little thinner than Rand’s and Perrin’s, but she had still assumed men would be of a similar size. Aram’s was oddly small in comparison to the Theren boys’. He used it skilfully though.

She sighed and laced her fingers behind her head, wondering if someone had trained him and if so who. She wasn’t jealous; whoever it had been had done a good job. He stirred her pleasure with his fingers as much as with his cock.

They hadn’t bothered to take off their clothes, not completely. The wagon belonged to Aram’s mother and they wouldn’t be able to stay long. She was a pleasant woman, full of smiles, but even a Tinker might object to a stranger taking her son to bed under her own roof. So Egwene had merely pulled up her skirts and lain on the edge of the bed. She smiled, recalling; that had been all it took to set Aram to fumbling at his belt. He was a bit of a slut it seemed.

“Take off your shirt,” she murmured. He grinned down at her and hardly paused in his thrusting as he dragged the gaudy garment over his head. His chest was oddly small, too. Mat’s had nowhere near the breadth and width of Perrin’s and Rand’s but even he had very visibly defined muscles all over his body. Aram was as smooth as a girl, only without any breasts. She smiled as she watched him.

He took hold of her legs and lifted them higher as he sped up his strokes, moaning loudly. He buried himself all the way inside her and she soon felt him spurting. That felt sweet. And harmless; she had plenty of heartleaf in her saddlebags, so there would be no chance of her getting pregnant.

Aram smiled in satisfaction as he slid out of Egwene’s sex. “That was wonderful. The first flower of spring is always the sweetest.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

When he made to rise, Egwene blinked quizzically, once, then pulled him back down. “I’m not done yet, silly boy,” she said with a gentle smile. Then she put a hand atop his head, amidst his fine black hair, and pushed his mouth towards her pussy.

Aram looked alarmed for some reason. “But ... I just ...”

She ignored his blathering, wrapped her legs around his shoulders, and pressed his face into her slit. “The leaf falls where the wind takes it, and does not struggle against its fate,” she reminded him. “This is where you belong now.” It occurred to her that that might make it harder to let him down easily. “Right now. As to the future ... the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.” She thought Moiraine would have liked that.

Aram’s face was red from exertion and a small frown marred his brow. But his tongue worked against her willingly enough. She rubbed herself insistently against his lips, feeling her pleasure mounting.

Egwene’s gasping breaths came shorter and shorter until at last, with a glad cry, the dam inside her burst and pleasure flowed freely.

Afterwards, she smiled and stretched her shoulders. It might have been better if she had taken her dress off; she had sweated a little toward the end.

Aram had pulled up his breeches. He wiped his mouth on his shirt, looking oddly sour-faced.

Egwene came to her feet and let her skirts fall back into place, smoothing them with her hands. “Well that was nice. But don’t go assuming I’ll make a habit of it. I’ll let you know when I’m in the mood. We’d best be leaving before your parents come back. Come along, Aram.” She left the wagon without a backwards glance, confident he would heel her like he always did.

She kept her word to herself. In the days that followed she avoided doing anything more than kissing him. Not that she would have minded doing more, she just didn’t want him to get any strange ideas in his pretty little head. That didn’t stop her from enjoying the hungry way he watched as she practiced her dancing with Cerani and Merile.

Once, while she had her head together with Ila discussing how best to manage the fragile prides of men, Raine Cinclare crept up on them.

Egwene wasn’t aware the girl was even near until she spoke in a voice that was oddly hesitant. “Lady Ila. Could ... I’d like to talk to you. When you have time.”

Ila smiled in genuine delight. She had been spending quite a bit of time with Raine lately. Which Egwene thought odd, since she obviously had no fondness at all for Elyas. The wolf girl was wrapped in a thick cloak of yellow wool that Ila had given her several nights before. “Of course, my sweet. Come sit with us.” She patted the log on which they perched. Raine sidled over, fixing Egwene with an unblinking yellow stare that reminded her of Elyas’. Egwene made a point of staring right back at her.

Ila’s voice turned chiding. “But I’ve told you before, my husband is just a Seeker, he doesn’t rule us. No-one does. And I’m not a Lady, no more than you are a wolf.”

Raine shrugged uncomfortably, saying nothing in return. But she did drop her eyes to the ground, which Egwene found rather satisfying.

“Perhaps it might go easier if we talked in private,” Ila mused, “Egwene dear, would you mind telling my husband that we should stop at the next woods? There’s not much shelter in the hills beyond.”

Egwene eyed the ragged girl for a moment longer, then shrugged. She was sure Ila was wasting her time with that one, but some things even women needed to learn by themselves.

She found Ila’s husband and Raine’s namesake sitting around a fire with Elyas and Anna. Perrin was nearby, wrapped in his cloak under a wagon, seemingly asleep. He had been suffering from bad dreams lately, from what she could tell.

Elyas frowned into empty space when she passed along Ila’s message. He might have been interesting if he wasn’t so full of himself. He was a talented woodsman and seemed like he would be a good fighter, but she couldn’t abide men who got above themselves.

She decided she would indulge Aram again tonight. But first she should settle matters with Anna.

She sat near the other girl, warming her hands by the fire. Anna gave her a brief nod of greeting, then went back to staring listlessly into the flames. She was very short; the top of her head barely reached above Egwene’s shoulder, and Egwene was not a tall woman to begin with. It had always felt a little odd being the tall one for once, but not in a bad way.

“So,” Egwene began. “How are you finding life among the  _ Tuatha’an _ ?”

Anna blinked at being addressed. It was a guilty look, to Egwene’s eyes. No doubt she knew she would have to work at winning her way back into Egwene’s good graces. “They’re fine, I suppose. But we’re moving too slow. How are we going to find our friends at this pace? Even if they go to Caemlyn like we thought how long will they wait there for us?”

“Moiraine will take care of everything. As rude as Rand and the other were to her, I’m sure she wouldn’t hold a grudge. They will come to their senses and realise how much they need her, we can hope.” There. That should be enough to steer Anna where she needed to go.

Though ... in truth she wasn’t certain Rand would have that much sense. He was a stubborn one, and wilful behind his sweet veneer. He didn’t argue often, but he had a most annoying habit of simply ignoring what you told him to do. It had been a little exasperating when her mother arranged the match between them. All Egwene had said was that he was the handsomest boy in the Theren, she hadn’t said anything about wanting to marry him and manage his farm! But her mother would deny her nothing, of course. She would simply have to be more careful how she steered people.

Anna was frowning thoughtfully. “Maybe they do. And maybe they will.” She sighed. “I wish it were otherwise. The Aes Sedai have a pretty bad reputation. Cold and ruthless. Manipulative. Treacherous. You know the things people say.”

“People say a lot of foolish things,” Egwene said coolly. “Especially small people, jealous of their rulers. And since the Aes Sedai are the great power of the land ... Well.”

Anna smiled wryly. “And you’ll be one of them soon. With all those small people jealously complaining of what you do to them.”

Egwene sighed softly. “It may get a little hard. But a strong woman must face such trials, and overcome them. It can only be hoped that they realise their mistakes in time ...”

Anna shook her head slightly and turned her gaze back to the flame. “Well, it’s none of my business really. Your life and all. But, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a perfect Aes Sedai.”

That won her a bright smile. “Thank you, Anna. I’m glad we could have this talk. And I will take that last as better than an apology, so you needn’t say anything more.” Anna looked surprised at Egwene’s grace.

She reached over and gave the girl’s hand a light squeeze, before she rose and took her leave.

Egwene had cause to regret her kindness a few days later, when she saw Anna holding someone else’s hand. Perrin’s. Naturally, they were not aware of her presence, and she darted around the side of one of the wagons as soon as she caught them. A careful surveillance revealed that it was no mere handshake either, she held onto him far too long for it to be innocent. Egwene was furious. It was not that she had any particular interest in Perrin—certainly she was not jealous! Not of Anna, or of any other woman for that matter! But still, if Anna was interested in Perrin she should have asked Egwene’s permission before approaching him.  _ The nerve of her! And after I forgave her, too! _

So the next day when she saw Perrin slinking out of camp on another of his supposedly innocent hunting trips, she decided to follow. The sun was still a red ball on the western horizon, when she found him leaning against a tree on the outskirts of camp. Taking a deep breath, she gathered up her skirts and crept closer. She might not have Nynaeve’s skill at woodcraft, but she knew enough to avoid stepping on dead twigs. At last she peered carefully around the trunk of an old oak.

“Who’s out there? Not Anna, that’s for sure.” Perrin demanded loudly. “You’ve rustled enough leaves to wake the dead, so you might as well show yourself.”

Egwene’s lips compressed, but she stepped out.  _ I did not! _ His eyes widened when he saw her. “Were you expecting someone else?” she said archly, and he at least had the grace to look ashamed.

“I ... W-what are you doing here, Egwene?”

She came to stand near him. He wasn’t the handsomest of boys, but he was far from ugly. And he had a very impressive body. She’d enjoyed herself with him. But there were more important things than that. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” she said. “I recall you being very glad before ...” Without waiting for a response, she took him by the collar and pulled him down for a kiss.

He didn’t kiss her back, and when she released him he stuttered confused denials like a great oaf, but that didn’t matter. All he had to do was stand there, and even a man could manage that much.

Egwene knelt to undo his belt and fish his cock out. Perrin stared down at her, wide-eyed, helpless, stupid. Male, in other words. His cock was warm in her hands, and it took no more than a light touch of her fingers to start it stiffening. She smiled to herself, pleased at the power she had over him with even that minimal amount of effort. She stroked it in her hand, watching as it thickened and lengthened, the bulbous head poking out of the skin when she pulled it back. It was an ugly thing, but oddly fascinating. The sight of it excited her more than she had been expecting.

“W-we shouldn’t,” Perrin was gasping. “I didn’t think you—”

He cut off with a groan when she took him in her mouth and began sucking. His thick sausage filled her mouth, alive in a way that meat usually wasn’t. She didn’t like the taste it left, but that didn’t really matter either just then. She sucked him slowly, waiting, watching.

Egwene was sure she would have heard Anna approach if not for Perrin’s helpless groans. As it was she didn’t notice the girl until she crept around a tree ten feet away from them, her thick shoulders hunched uncertainly. Perrin still had his back to the tree, oblivious to the world beyond Egwene, but Egwene missed nothing. She stared right into Anna’s eyes as she ran her lips up and down Perrin’s shaft, watching with satisfaction as shame coloured the stocky girl’s cheeks and tightened her face in a pained grimace. Egwene took Perrin’s hand and put it atop her head, and he combed his fingers through her hair obligingly. She stared Anna down, until the girl turned and fled. It was hard to smile with a cock filling your mouth, but she managed it anyway.  _ That should put the little chit in her place _ .

Since she was already there, and feeling good about herself, she decided to finish Perrin off. When her kindness finally inspired him to orgasm, she hastily removed his cock from her mouth and aimed it away, spitting out the disgusting sauce he’d already leaked in her mouth. She decided she quite liked the way it felt while he pulsing in her hand like that, hot and alive.

When it was done, Egwene stood up and dusted the leaves and twigs from her skirts. She patted Perrin on the cheek as he leant against the tree, breathing heavily. “You can be a good boy when you try,” she said graciously. “Keep it up.”

She left him there and went in search of Anna, though finding her proved irritatingly difficult. She had to ask directions from the People, and when at last she tracked her down she found her sitting on a log at the far side of camp, sulking. Anna didn’t look up when she approached, but the way her brows tightened made plain that she knew Egwene was there.

“Why are you sulking over here? Don’t tell me you have a crush on Perrin! Oh, Anna. If you’d only asked me ...” Egwene said sadly. “Well, live and learn I suppose. I’m bored with him anyway, and you two are well suited to each other. I’ll give him to you, okay?” She smiled and raised her hand, palm out. “There’s no need to thank me. Generosity is its own reward.”

The way she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut made Anna look even plainer than usual. She clutched the legs of those ridiculous trousers she wore in white-knuckled fists, but didn’t seem able to come up with anything to say. Egwene supposed that was understandable. What could she say, when she had to know she was in the wrong?

Egwene left her to think about what she had done. She hoped the girl would learn from her mistake, but it didn’t really matter to her whether she did or not. She’d made her point.

“Such a bitch!” she heard Anna hiss behind her back, when she was so far away that it was barely more than a whisper. She considered turning back and confronting her over her bad manners, but decided she wasn’t worth the effort.

She resolved to take Aram somewhere more private that night. She was in the mood to feel a warm body in her arms as she slept.

She rarely saw Perrin and Anna in the days that followed, and when she did they both wore glum, sullen expressions. Egwene didn’t mind. Even by Theren standards Perrin and Anna had never been interesting company. They had little to say and less to offer, especially now that she was moving up in the world.

She spent more and more time in Aram’s company after settling matters with Anna. They found cosy, private spots to sleep in almost every night. One of those spots—within sight of but slightly apart from camp, and nestled between the roots of a great oak with a dozen blankets piled atop them—did not prove private enough, unfortunately. At dawn’s first blush she was awoken by the harsh voice of Raine Cinclare.

“Girl. Up. Longtooth wants to talk to you. Your mate isn’t needed.”

Egwene rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Who wants what?” she asked blearily. Aram stirred at her side and poked his head above the blankets, his hair tousled in a quite fetching manner. He essayed an oddly hopeful smile when he saw Raine, but the wolf girl ignored him. Instead she examined the nearby woods with a wariness that she hadn’t shown since the first days of their stay among the People.  _ Wait, what did she call me? _ Still half-asleep, Egwene pulled her dress to her under the sheets and started putting it on over her shift.

“Elyas wants you girl. Doesn’t want boy.” She didn’t look at Egwene either, just kept probing the early morning gloom with her eyes.

She was half-way to her feet before it registered. Bad enough to be woken so early, but she wasn’t about to stand to be insulted. She set her jaw and straightened up. Raine was not as short as Anna, but Egwene still had an inch of height on her. She gave her a good hard stare to be going on with. “My name is not ‘girl’,” she said coldly. “It is Egwene al’Vere.”

Raine rounded on her, yellow eyes burning with malice. “Your name is meat!” she snarled, with her nose crinkled up and her teeth bared savagely. “And ‘meat’ is hunted.”

Against her will Egwene flinched back from that mad glare, her heart skipping a beat. Aram was no help. The Tinker cowered under their blankets before the skinny little savage’s wrath.

Abruptly Raine seemed to come to her senses, what little she had. She looked at Aram’s cringing and Egwene’s mild alarm and grimaced before turning away. “Sorry,” she muttered shamefully. “Go to Elyas.” Then she slunk off into the trees.

After that display she was reluctant to heed Cinclare’s message, but curiosity drove her to Ila’s fire.

When she got there Elyas was squatting beside Perrin in the predawn, one hand outstretched as if to shake him awake. Beyond the trees where the wagons lay, the wolves started howling, one sharp cry from three throats.

“Yes,” Elyas said softly. “It is time. Get up, boy. It’s time for us to go.”

Perrin scrambled out of his blankets. While he and a yawning Anna were still bundling their blanketrolls, Raen came out of his wagon, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The Seeker glanced at the sky and froze halfway down the steps, his hands still raised to his face. Only his eyes moved as he studied the sky intently, though Egwene could not understand what he was looking at. A few clouds hung in the east, undersides streaked with pink from the sun yet to rise, but there was nothing else to see. Raen seemed to listen, as well, and smell the air, but there was no sound except the wind in the trees and no smell but the faint smoky remnant of last night’s campfires.

She shook her head. “You sent your ... friend to wake me goodman Machera? I hope there was a good reason for it.”

He ignored that. “Where’s Raine?”

He could hardly have meant the Tinker standing nearby, even men were not that slow-witted. “I don’t know, she slunk off somewhere,” she answered with a shrug. Hoping that would inspire him to manners.

It was a vain hope. Elyas’ frown grew even deeper. He ignored her and went to meet Raen at the foot of the stairs. The Seeker looked uneasily at the sky as he spoke. “We must change the direction we travel, my old friend. We go another way this day. Will you be coming with us?” Elyas shook his head, and Raen nodded as if he had known all along. “Well, take care, my old friend. There is something about today ...” He started to look up once more, but pulled his eyes back down before they rose above the wagon tops. “I think the wagons will turn back east. Perhaps all the way to the Spine of the World. Perhaps we’ll find a  _ stedding _ , and stay there awhile.”

“Trouble never enters the  _ stedding _ ,” Elyas agreed. “But the Ogier are none too open to strangers.”

“Everyone is open to the Travelling People,” Raen said, and grinned. “Besides, even Ogier have pots and things to mend. Come, let us have some breakfast, and we’ll talk about it.”

“No time,” Elyas said. “We move on today, too. As soon as possible. It’s a day for moving, it seems.”

Raen tried to convince him to at least stay long enough for food, and when Ila appeared from the wagon, she added her arguments, though not as strenuously as her husband. She said all of the right words, but her politeness was stiff, and it was plain she would be glad to see Elyas’ back, if not Egwene’s.

Egwene nodded and hurried into the wagon to gather her things. Whatever “something” Elyas was being driven by this time, it was plain they were leaving. She wasn’t about to be left behind. Ila came inside with her. She spared a regretful moment to admire how surprisingly roomy the wagon was inside. It was hardly as nice as her mother’s inn, but it was still a lot cosier than she had thought it would be when they first arrived.

“I noticed young Raine wasn’t with your friends outside,” Ila said as she added a generous supply of willowbark to Egwene’s herb pouch, and topped up her heartleaf. “Do you know where she is?”

Egwene sighed. “I despair of that girl. The last time I saw her she was slouching off north looking—rightly!—ashamed of herself.”

“She is a troubled child, but she has a good heart,” said Ila kindly. But even she sounded a bit exasperated by Raine’s behaviour. “I’d best go look for her while I can.” With that she gathered her cloak and stepped out, leaving Egwene to pack alone.  _ How close are we to Caemlyn _ , she wondered.  _ I don’t think we covered as much ground with the wagons as we might have done travelling as before _ .

A crowd had gathered by the time Egwene re-emerged. The whole camp had turned out in their finest and brightest, a mass of colour that made Raen and Ila’s red-and-yellow wagon seem almost plain. The big dogs strolled through the crowd with their tongues lolling out of their mouths, looking for someone to scratch their ears, while Perrin and the others endured handshake after handshake and hug after hug. The girls who had danced every night would not be content with shaking hands, and their hugs made Perrin blush and Anna scowl.

Aram approached her, leading Bela, only to stop a little aside from the rest. Sighing inwardly, Egwene went to meet him.  _ Gently _ , she reminded herself.

“And so we come to our end,” he said with a sad smile. He handed her the reins. “The Way of the Leaf teaches acceptance, but no-one ever promised it would be an easy path. Go in peace Egwene al’Vere.”

She very nearly smiled. He was putting on such a brave face; he was actually quite close to convincing. “I am glad you are taking it so well,” she told him in a soft voice. “I did not want to hurt you. But I really must go.” She brushed a kiss across his cheek. “You will find someone else.”

“Of course,” he said, the lie loud in his voice. “You will, too.”

_ That went well _ , she congratulated herself as she led Bela towards Perrin. Cerani and Merile stopped her on the way for goodbye hugs, and by the time that was done the crowd had moved back, opening a little space around Raen and the visitors.

“You came in peace,” Raen intoned, bowing formally, hands on his chest. “Depart now in peace. Always will our fires welcome you, in peace. The Way of the Leaf is peace.”

“Peace be on you always,” Elyas replied, “and on all the People.” He hesitated, then added, “you will find the song, or another will find the song, but the song will be sung, this year or in a year to come. As it once was, so shall it be again, time without end.”

Raen blinked in surprise, but all the other  _ Tuatha’an _ murmured in reply, “Time without end. Time and world without end.” Raen hurriedly said the same after everyone else.

Then it really was time to go. A few last farewells, a few last admonitions to take care, a few last smiles and winks, and they were making their way out of the camp. Raen accompanied them as far as the edge of the trees, a pair of the dogs cavorting by his side.

“Truly, my old friend, you must take great care. This day ... There is wickedness loose in the world, I fear, and whatever you pretend, you are not so wicked that it will not gobble you up.”

“Peace be on you,” Elyas said.

“And on you,” Raen said sadly.

When Raen was gone, Elyas scowled at finding the others looking at him. “So I don’t believe in their fool song,” he growled. “No need to make them feel bad by messing up their ceremony, was there? I told you they set a store by ceremony sometimes.”

“Of course,” Egwene said gently. “No need at all.”

Elyas turned away muttering to himself. His wolves came to meet him, not frolicking as the dogs had done, but with a disturbingly uncowed air about them. If words passed between them like he claimed, they were words he did not like. “Which way?” he asked aloud, seeming unaware he had spoken.

The wolves led them to a hill on the edge of the woods. Cinclare and Ila awaited them there, the older woman with a hand resting gently on the younger’s shoulder.

Elyas took in the scene silently. A long moment passed. The air around them seemed suddenly tense. At last he spoke. “We need to go now, Raine.”

It was Ila who answered. “Isn’t that for her to decide?”

“Of course. She knows the right thing to do.” His voice wasn’t cold exactly, but something about it disturbed Egwene, like a chill breeze stealing down the back of her dress.

Raine did not meet his eyes. She spoke so low it was a struggle to hear her words. “I don’t though. Know what’s right. We don’t belong here. And we don’t belong there. We don’t belong anywhere. I can’t make the wolf not be there, but I need to find out if there’s anything left of the girl I used to be. I need to stay.”

Elyas took a while to absorb that. “You takin’ up the Way of the Leaf, Raine?”

She shook her shorn head. “No. Not that. Though maybe it would help if I did.” Ila put an encouraging arm around her shoulders. “But what I need I won’t find out there. With you.” She cringed a little at that last, as though the words pained her.

The fur-clothed man’s face was very still. “I see. Well maybe that was always how it had to be.” He sighed. “It’s a balance, kid. There’s nothin’ wrong with the wolves, and not that much wrong with humans either. Not that much. You just need to find your balance between them.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “If you can’t find it ... out there. I hope you find it elsewhere.”

With no more than that he turned and strode off down the hill, his wolves falling in at his heels. Raine watched them go with a stricken frown on her face, but Egwene thought she looked a little relieved, too.

“I guess this is goodbye then,” Anna said, still not quite meeting Raine’s strange eyes. “No hard feelings on my end. Whatever it is you’re looking for, I hope you find it.”

Raine blinked at her. “Thank you. Keep your bow strung. The prey out there is fleeing from something. All the prey.”

Egwene shivered and mounted Bela, suddenly eager to be away.

Perrin hesitated, like Anna he did not quite meet Raine’s eyes. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but whatever it was no words emerged.

“Go careful, shoulders,” the wolf girl said softly. “Go very careful.” Then she turned and trotted away, back in the direction of the Tinker camp, with Ila hurrying after her.

Egwene gave Bela her heels and set off after Elyas, with Perrin and Anna hastening to keep up. Egwene still wore the string of blue beads Aram had given her, and a little sprig of something with tiny, bright red leaves in her hair, another gift from the young  _ Tuatha’an _ . She fingered the beads fondly; it had been a pleasant distraction, their time together.

Perrin spoke up at last. “Do you know what Ila said to Raine? What did you spend so much time talking about with her? If you weren’t dancing with that long-legged fellow, you were talking to her like it was some kind of secret.”

“Ila was giving me advice on being a woman,” Egwene replied absently. He began laughing, and she gave him a hooded, dangerous look that he failed to see.

“Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.”

“That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.” Up ahead, Elyas cackled loudly.


	15. Fumbling in the Dark

CHAPTER 34: Fumbling in the Dark

They avoided the road as much as they could. After Four Kings, and with Mat’s eyes troubling him, they kept to the hedges and fields, never straying too far from the Caemlyn Road, but keeping clear of the thickening traffic that walked and rode and trundled along it. Any one of those travellers could be a Darkfriend. Their pace slowed unavoidably, as warily as they now moved.

At least the rain had let up. It had poured down for a night and a day after they fled Gode and his friends. He had been nearly as blind as Mat as they stumbled through that downpour but he had pressed on until their legs could carry them no farther, brief flashes of lightening occasionally illuminating their path, and forcing a flinch from them both. Rand had not forgotten the dead men in the street, or failed to realise how easily it could have been him or Mat.  _ Pure luck _ , he thought.  _ Was Gode as lucky? _ He hoped not, then rebuked himself for it. He had never wished death on a fellow human before. But the man had been a Darkfriend, admitted from his own mouth even ...

A flash of lightning showed him some likely looking bushes and he led Mat toward them. They had leaves enough to give a little shelter from the driving rain. Not as much as a good tree might, but he did not want to risk another lightning strike. They might not be so lucky, next time.

Huddled together beneath the bushes, they tried to arrange their cloaks to make a little tent over the branches. It was far too late to think of staying dry, but just stopping the incessant pelting of the raindrops would be something. They crouched against each other to share what little body warmth was left to them. Dripping wet as they were, and more drips coming through the cloaks, they shivered themselves into sleep.

Rand knew right away it was a dream. He was back in Four Kings, but the town was empty except for him. The wagons were there, but no people, no horses, no dogs. Nothing alive. He knew someone was waiting for him, though.

As he walked down the rutted street, the buildings seemed to blur as they slid behind him. When he turned his head, they were all there, solid, but the indistinctness remained at the corners of his vision. It was as if only what he saw really existed, and then just while he was seeing. He was sure if he turned quickly enough he would see ... He was not sure what, but it made him uneasy, thinking about it.

The Dancing Cartman appeared in front of him. Somehow its garish paint seemed grey and lifeless. He went in. Gode was there, at a table.

He only recognized the man from his clothes, his silk and dark velvets. Gode’s skin was red, burned and cracked and oozing. His face was almost a skull, his lips shrivelled to bare teeth and gums. As Gode turned his head, some of his hair cracked off, powdering to soot when it hit his shoulder. His lidless eyes stared at Rand.

“So you are dead,” Rand said. He was surprised that he was not afraid. Perhaps it was knowing that it was a dream this time.

“Yes,” said Ba’alzamon’s voice, “but he did find you for me. That deserves some reward, don’t you think?”

Rand turned, and discovered he could be afraid, even knowing it was a dream. Ba’alzamon’s clothes were the colour of dried blood, and rage and hate and triumph battled on his face.

“You see, youngling, you cannot hide from me forever. One way or another I find you. What protects you also makes you vulnerable. One time you hide, the next you light a signal fire. Come to me, youngling.” He held out his hand to Rand. “If my hounds must pull you down, they may not be gentle. They are jealous of what you will be, once you have knelt at my feet. It is your destiny. You belong to me.” Gode’s burned tongue made an angry, eager garble of sound.

Rand tried to wet his lips, but he had no spit in his mouth. “No,” he managed, and then the words came more easily. “I belong to myself. Not you. Not ever. Myself. If your Darkfriends kill me, you’ll never have me.”

Rage contorted Ba’alzamon’s face. “Alive or dead, youngling, you are mine. The grave belongs to me. Easier dead, but better alive. Better for you, youngling. The living have more power in most things.” Gode made a gabbling sound again. “Yes, my good hound. Here is your reward.”

Rand looked at Gode just in time to see the man’s body crumble to dust. For an instant the burned face held a look of sublime joy that turned to horror in the final moment, as if he had seen something waiting he did not expect. Gode’s empty velvet garments settled on the chair and the floor among the ash.

When he turned back, Ba’alzamon’s outstretched hand had become a fist. “You are mine, youngling, alive or dead. The Eye of the World will never serve you. I mark you as mine.” His fist opened, and a ball of flame shot out. It struck Rand in the face, exploding, searing.

Rand lurched awake in the dark, water dripping through the cloaks onto his face. His hand trembled as he touched his cheeks. The skin felt tender, as if sunburned.

Suddenly he realized Mat was twisting and moaning in his sleep. He shook him, and Mat came awake with a whimper.

“My eyes! Oh, Light, my eyes! He took my eyes!”

Rand held him close, cradling him against his chest as if he were a baby. “You’re all right, Mat. You’re all right. He can’t hurt us. We won’t let him.” He could feel Mat shaking, sobbing into his coat. “He can’t hurt us,” he whispered, and wished he believed it.  _ What protects you makes you vulnerable. I am going mad. _

They had not slept again that night, but groggily they donned their cloaks and set off eastward, Rand leading Mat by the hand, trying to get as far away from Four Kings as they could before the Darkfriends could organise a pursuit.

They passed the entire next day on the road, passing farm after farm with no sign of a village. Rand did not dare seek shelter from the farmers, not with Mat stumbling along at his side. There would be too many questions to answer. He didn’t know how he could explain the Darkfriends or the sudden lightning storm without sounding mad.

At last, footsore and weary, Rand turned aside from the every-stretching road to Caemlyn and unlatched a wooden gate leading to the nearest farm. The sun was dipping beneath the horizon by then and the farmhands were nowhere to be seen. He had spied a rickety shelter that had been set up to keep the rain off the last of their hay and, tired as he was, it looked positively luxurious. He led the ominously silent Mat towards it.

“There’s hay here Mat, and a roof. We can sleep here tonight,” he sighed.

“Out of the rain is good,” Mat allowed. “Seeing is better.”

“Still nothing? Don’t worry, I’m sure it will come back in time,” Rand said with as much cheer as he could muster. Mat only grunted in response.

They bedded down beneath their cloaks. Rand knew Lan would have insisted that one of them keep watch, and perhaps he would have been right, too, but he was much too weary for that. He fell asleep within moments of closing his eyes.

He awoke to a more pleasant morning than he’d seen in quite some time. The sun was trying to fight its way through the unseasonal gloom. It wasn’t quite succeeding, sadly, but at least it had done enough to warm the morning air and dry their clothes. It wasn’t the only reason Rand was feeling so cosy. During the night Mat had scootched closer and was now cuddled up against Rand’s side, still fast asleep.

Rand tried to be surreptitious in his stretching but the movement woke Mat who gave a start and cried out, “Who’s there!?”

“It’s only me,” Rand said with a yawn. “It’s morning.”

“Oh. I knew that. You woke me suddenly, that’s all.”

Rand made a non-committed sound in response.

“I’m hungry,” Mat announced.

“So am I,” Rand sighed. “We have enough for breakfast but we’ll need to find a town soon or we’ll be forced to look for work on one of these farms again.”

Mat frowned, though his dark eyes remained unfocused. “That will slow us down. Those Darkfriends could be right behind us. Better to swipe some eggs or vegetables and hurry on.”

Rand sighed again. He was probably right, but Rand hated stealing from honest folk.

Mat sat up and stretched his shoulders. “Also. It wasn’t just food I was talking about ...”

Rand pursed his lips and gave his old friend an appraisingly look. He’d noticed Mat pressing stiffly against his thigh when he awoke but thought nothing of it. He rarely woke completely soft himself, it was only natural.

“No time to work ... but time for that?” Rand teased.

Mat’s laughter was a welcome sound, considering how grim and suspicious he had grown, and especially considering his recent injury. “Of course. You should get your priorities in order, al’Thor,” he said with a grin, face turned in Rand’s general direction, but eyes still unfocused.

“Perhaps I should,” Rand murmured as he pulled Mat in for a kiss.

Their lips did not touch for long before Mat began working his way down Rand’s body and unbuckling his belt. He lifted his hips long enough for Mat to pull his trousers down over them and free his now fully erect cock, accidentally brushing Mat’s cheek with the tip as he did so.

“Ah, that’s how it is, huh?” smirked Mat. He patted Rand’s body timidly, searching with touch for what he could not find by sight. When his questing hands found Rand’s member he wrapped it in a soft grip and held it steady, lining it up with the mouth that now descended towards it. There was something sinfully delicious about the way Mat’s eyes remained open and staring as he swallowed Rand’s cock and he could not stifle the loud moan that escaped him. It had been nearly a week since he’d gotten off and the sweet thrill of someone touching his manhood stirred his hunger immediately. He stroked his fingers through Mat’s hair as he ran his lips up and down Rand’s length, his drool slickening it nicely. That was good, because Rand wanted more than Mat’s mouth.

When he sat up, Mat sat up, too, as though knowing what was coming. He fumbled with his own belt, but Rand pushed his hands aside and undid it himself. Breathing nervously, Mat sat still and let Rand pull off his boots, his trousers, and finally his drawers, baring the lower half of his body to the fresh morning air. The blind boy shivered enticingly, but Rand knew of a good way to warm him up.

Rand took hold of Mat’s narrow hips and pulled him towards his lap.

“What ...?” Mat began as his knee bumped against Rand’s thigh. Gracelessly he clambered over until he was kneeling above Rand, erect and exposed.

Rand shushed him softly. He steered Mat’s hips until his sweet little ass was positioned above Rand manhood, then began to slowly pull him down onto it.

Mat turned his blind eyes to the heavens and groaned as he felt himself being impaled on Rand’s hard cock.

Rand slowly pushed his full length into Mat’s tight hole, then wasted no time in lifted his friend’s hips high and pulling him firmly down again, fucking himself with Mat’s ass again and again.

As he bobbed up and down Mat flailed his arms, trying and failing to find something to hold onto. When nothing proved close enough to grab onto he was left with no choice but to trust to Rand’s grip on his waist and wait out his pleasure, his blind eyes staring helplessly around.

It was not long in coming. Rand fucked Mat hard and fast, both of them gasping for breath. He watched his friend’s open face as he forcibly rubbed him up and down his length and when he felt his orgasm building found to his surprise that he could go faster still. Mat’s toes were the only part of him still touching the ground when Rand’s climax thundered down on him. Rand let out a loud yell and collapsed back upon the hay, letting Mat drop down his length one last glorious time as he pumped his seed into him.

“Well you certainly enjoyed yourself,” Mat said breathlessly.

“Definitely,” said Rand, between gasps. “I needed that.”

“I need it, too ...” Mat hinted.

Rand laughed softly. “Get up then.”

Mat rose to his knees, freeing Rand’s softening length and clambered from the other youth’s lap. Once he was clear Rand shifted into a kneeling position with his trousers tangled around his ankles and turned his back to his lover. Conscientiously, he reached back and took a light grip on the blind boy’s hot and stiff cock and helped him steer it where he knew it wanted to go.

Mat’s hands quested out once more, patting Rand’s exposed flesh as he sought a good grip on his hips. It took him longer than usual to find it, but once he was well positioned he was quick to thrust forward. Rand took the momentary pain and familiar pleasure of being penetrated in silence, save for his deep breathing. He revelled in the sensation of Mat pushing his way past his tight entrance and deep inside him. Soon Mat was fucking Rand with every bit the wild abandon that Rand had so recently fucked him.

“I think it’s some men, Master Canler. Strangers,” said a distant voice.

Mat’s wild thrusting stopped abruptly and Rand jerked his head to the side in shock. Up the gentle incline that led to the distant farmhouse he could just about see a man approach, clutching what looked like a hoe. Behind him marched a trio of stout farmhands led by a sturdy, grey-haired man who slapped a wooden cudgel in his hand as he slowly advanced.

Rand, on his hands and knees with Mat mounting him, blushed scarlet. “Blood and ashes,” he cursed. “Grab your things Mat, they’re coming.”

Mat pulled himself out of Rand’s butt and cast his blind gaze around them frantically. “Fuck! I can’t ... where are my clothes!?” Wide-eyed and white-faced Mat began searching among the hay for his discarded garments.

Rand hastily dragged up his trousers and buckled Tam’s sword belt. He snatched up Mat’s clothes and boots for him and bundled them into his friend’s arms before grabbing their cloaks and adding them to Mat’s load. Cursing under his breath he snatched up their unstrung bows and the rest of their supplies, juggling the unwieldy burdens under one arm as he reached for Mat’s sleeve.

“We need to hurry, run if you can,” Rand said tightly, still red-faced.

Mat nodded and they set off at a trot, the pace made even more difficult by the fact that Mat was still naked from the waist down.

“Aye, you better run!” called the farmer, Canler. “And stay off my land!”

On they jogged, out the gate and down the road, which was blessedly free of traffic at this early hour. Rand was careful to steer Mat around any sharp looking stones along their path.

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Rand,” growled Mat abruptly.

“What? This was your idea!” Rand objected.

“You started it!” Mat grouched, unfairly.

Rand rolled his eyes. “Oh, whatever. Shut up and keep running.”

They had run quite a long way by the time Rand felt safe enough to stop and dress properly. And they had walked longer still when they arrive at the next town and went in search of the local innkeeper.

A rooster crowing jerked Rand awake the next morning. He lay there, watching dawn lighten the window, and wondered if he dared sleep a little longer. Sleep during daylight, when they could be moving. A yawn made his jaws crack. Mat had been eager to make up for their interrupted tryst last night, and less inclined to hurry in the safety of their room at the inn. He had taken Rand like a woman in the bed they shared, and in the darkness Rand had been as blind as the boy laying between his spread legs, kissing him deeply as he explored his body with hands, and more.

“Hey,” Mat exclaimed, “I can see!” He sat up on their bed, squinting around the room. “Some anyway. Your face is still a little blurry, but I can tell who you are. I knew I’d be all right. By tonight I’ll see better than you do. Again.”

“That’s great news. You almost had me worried there,” said Rand with a smile.

Rand sprang out of bed, and scooped up his clothes. They were wrinkled and worn from their travels, and from drying on him while he slept so many times, and they itched terribly but he had no replacements with him so they would have to do. “We’re wasting daylight,” he said. Mat scrambled up as fast as he had and began to get dressed; his clothes were in no better condition than Rand’s.

Rand felt good. They were two days away from Four Kings, and none of Gode’s men had showed up. Two days closer to Caemlyn, where Moiraine would be waiting for them. She would. No more worrying about Darkfriends once they were back with the Aes Sedai and the Warder. It was strange to be looking forward so much to being with an Aes Sedai.  _ Light, when I see Moiraine again, I’ll kiss her! _ He laughed at the thought. He felt good enough to invest some of their dwindling stock of coins in breakfast—a big loaf of bread and a pitcher of milk, cold from the spring house, before they set out once more.


	16. What the Future Holds

CHAPTER 43: What the Future Holds

Long into the night they planned. Moiraine did most of it, with Loial’s advice concerning the Ways, but she listened to questions and suggestions from everyone. Once dark fell Lan joined them, adding his comments in that iron-cored drawl. Nynaeve made a list of what supplies they needed, dipping her pen in the inkwell with a steady hand despite the way she kept muttering under her breath. Egwene would rather have done that herself, she was she sure could do it better, could make the best supplies list anyone could make, but Moiraine had no tasks for her. Anna was busy questioning the shockingly huge Ogier about the Ways, though it seemed to Egwene that he was simply repeating what he had already told them.

Rand paced up and down, as if he had to burn energy or burst from it. He looked rather a fool beside the dignified women, but what could you expect? She might have considered helping him with his energy problem—it had been a trying journey since leaving the  _ Tuatha’an _ —if it hadn’t been for his earlier words.  _ Elayne. Who is she? And how dare he go sniffing after another woman. I never imagined he would be such a slut.  _ He pretended to be immersed in thought, as if ignoring Egwene’s anger would make it go away. Or perhaps he wasn’t pretending, and actually believed that would work. He was a greater fool than she imagined if so.

There was no worry on Perrin’s face at all, just a mask of weary resignation. He’d been like that ever since his eyes changed colour, just after those Whitecloaks had captured her and her companions. “There’s good hunting along the Blight,” she heard him whisper once. Then he shuddered, as if he had just heard what he had said. She would keep his secret.

Mat looked properly chastened for once. He sat with his hands clasped, knuckles white, saying little. As usual it had fallen to a woman to clean up after his follies.  _ Stealing knives from Shadar Logoth. Even by his standards that was stupid. _

Rand drew her apart at one point, over by the fireplace where those planning around the table could not hear. “Egwene, I ...” Under her silent stare he had to stop and swallow guiltily. “It’s me the Dark One’s after, Egwene. Me, and Mat, and Perrin. I don’t care what Moiraine Sedai says. In the morning you and Anna—and Nynaeve even—could start for home, or Tar Valon, or anywhere you want to go, and nobody will try to stop you. Not the Trollocs, not the Fades, not anybody. As long as you aren’t with us. Go home, Egwene. Or go to Tar Valon. But go.”

So he was worried about her was he? Well, if it was only his eyes that had strayed ... She smiled and touched his cheek, bringing a shocked look to his face. “Thank you, Rand,” she said softly. “You know I can’t, though. Moiraine Sedai told us what Min saw, in Baerlon. You should have told me who Min was. I thought ...” But that had been silly of her, Min was nearly as mannish as Anna. “Well, Min says I am part of this, too. And Nynaeve. Maybe I’m no  _ ta’veren _ ...” She faltered. It really wasn’t right. Why should those three be marked by the Pattern but not Egwene? She would have been a much better choice! The injustice of it made her voice shake. “... but the Pattern sends me to the Eye of the World, too, it seems. Whatever involves you, involves me.”  _ It should be the other way around. He should be following me to the Eye to fulfil  _ my _ destiny. _

“But, Egwene—”

She’d heard enough. “Who is Elayne?” she asked flatly.

For a minute he stared at her, when at last he spoke he told a blatant lie. “She’s the Daughter-Heir to the throne of Andor.”

It was insult added to insult. Was he trying to make her jealous? As if a princess would ever have time for some shepherd! She glared at him. “If you can’t be serious for more than a minute, Rand al’Thor, I do not want to talk to you.” She stalked off to join Moiraine at the table, where the Aes Sedai was deciding what the three  _ ta’veren _ would do.  _ I will be Aes Sedai, too. Who cares about being  _ ta’veren _? _

Not that it didn’t sound like a useful thing to be. Was it simply coincidence that Moiraine had caught up with them on the very day that Perrin was scheduled to be executed by the Whitecloaks? It strained belief. But the idea that the Pattern would warp itself specifically to preserve one boy’s life strained it even farther.

Anna seemed to be having a hard time dealing with all the recent changes they had gone through. She had always been a small town sort of woman. She approached Perrin hesitantly and took a seat beside him. They spoke so low that no-one else could hear. Perrin avoided meeting her eyes, looking hangdog, while Anna herself seemed sad, but in a grim way, as though faced with an unpleasant necessity. Egwene drifted closer, trying to look disinterested.

“... not that. It’s just ... why did you have to kill them?” she was saying.

Perrin’s deep voice was not made for whispers, try as he might. “They were a threat to us. They killed Ho ... that wolf ...”

Anna frowned. “Only after the wolves killed a dozen of them, and then that one officer right in front of us. The beasts did far more damage than the Whitecloaks.”

“Good ...” Perrin growled. Then he grimaced as though someone had stabbed him.

Anna was quiet for a long moment, watching Perrin with a sad look on her face. “No, Perrin. It wasn’t good. I don’t know just what it was, but I don’t think good is the word for it.” She rose from her seat and walked away from Perrin slowly, her head hanging low. Perrin closed his eyes to the sight, looking sad, but did not try to call her back.

Egwene didn’t know what the fuss was about. Those Whitecloaks had thought they had the right to pass sentence on whoever they met, Egwene included. Getting rid of them was a good thing. Anna was getting upset over nothing.

Master Gill entered several times, first to light the lamps, then to bring food with his own hands, and later to report on what was happening outside. Whitecloaks were watching the inn from down the street in both directions. There had been a riot in the city, with the Queen’s Guards arresting all involved. Someone had tried to scratch the Dragon’s Fang on the front door and been sent on his way by the bouncers.

If the innkeeper found their party—which now included an Ogier of all things!—odd, he gave no sign of it. He answered the few questions Moiraine put to him without trying to discover what they were planning, and each time he came he knocked at the door and waited till Lan opened it for him, just as if it were not his inn and his library. Egwene was torn. It was good that he respected the rights of Aes Sedai, but she couldn’t imagine her mother or father letting anyone take over the Winespring Inn so easily. On his last visit, Moiraine gave him the sheet of parchment covered in Nynaeve’s neat hand.

“It won’t be easy this time of night,” he said, shaking his head as he perused the list, “but I’ll arrange it all.”

Moiraine added a small wash-leather bag that clinked as she handed it to him by the drawstrings. “Good. And see that we are wakened before daybreak. The watchers will be at their least alert, then.”

“We’ll leave them watching an empty box, Aes Sedai.” Master Gill grinned. Then he showed them to the baths, where hot water and fragrant yellow soap had thoughtfully been prepared.

The Aes Sedai bathed in a private chamber but the village women used a communal room, just like that in The Stag and Lion. The Winespring Inn had no room set aside for bathing, instead they had big copper tubs that were dragged wherever they were needed. Egwene thought this way better, though she would rather have had a private room.

Anna had smaller breasts than she did and had a stocky strength to her; she brooded as she bathed, frowning at nothing and everything, saying little.

Nynaeve was another matter. She sat up in her tub and leaned over the edge towards Egwene. Her hair hung loose, long straight brown strands clinging wetly to her face and shoulders. It made her look oddly young. She still spoke bossily though. “The Aes Sedai are dangerous enough, but the Blight? If even half the stories are true it is no place for any sane woman. There’s no need for you to come, Egwene. Go home, for the love of the Light. Your parents are probably worried sick about you. I have some coin still, with some clever haggling you could hire a carriage to take you as far as Baerlon. You’re a resourceful girl, you could make it the rest of the way on your own. Or better still, the two of you could go together.” She turned her frown on Anna.

“Go home? While Rand and the other two are off having destinies?” Egwene shook her head angrily. “Never. Have you forgotten I’m going to be Aes Sedai? I can’t go back to being just a Wisdom’s apprentice.”

Nynaeve’s lips thinned. She seemed on the brink of saying something, but whatever it was she swallowed it. She scrubbed herself angrily, the sponge making her breasts jiggle. Did she do that deliberately, to remind Egwene of how big they were? Egwene scowled at her defiantly, she was tired of people trying to bully her.

Nynaeve turned her ire on Anna. “Surely you can see this is not some fool adventure. You should go home, too, and take Egwene with you.”

“I told you—” Egwene began, but Anna spoke over her rudely.

“I wish I could,” she said, and from the way she sighed she meant it. “But I can’t abandon the rest of you while you’re in danger. I don’t even know what possible good I could do ... I mean, I have my bow but what real difference could that make? But I can’t leave. What if Rand or Perrin or anyone were to die? Then I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if there was anything, no matter how small, that I might have done which would have helped save them.”

Nynaeve’s frown faded and she sat back in the tub with a sigh of her own. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. What if you were the ones who needed saving, and I ...” Abruptly, she ducked her head under the water, scrubbing her hair vigorously.

Egwene didn’t want to listen to another lecture about the comfortable pleasures of home. So the journey had been less enjoyable than she imagined. Nothing worth having was ever won without effort. She climbed out of her tub in a shower of water and wrapped a towel around herself, then bent to gather up her dirty clothes. Nynaeve had resurfaced by then and stared after her, open-mouthed as though she wanted to say more, but Egwene didn’t give her the chance. She stalked out of the bathchamber on bare wet feet.

Moiraine waited in the hallway. Despite the private accommodations Master Gill had offered her, the Aes Sedai had bathed swiftly. She was fully clothed, her new dress as fine and as blue as her previous one, if somewhat less elaborately embroidered. She had said she was of the Blue Ajah, was that why she usually wore that colour? Would she have to wear the colour of whatever Ajah she chose? Egwene would learn the traditions soon enough. She would learn everything. The Aes Sedai watched her approach with a weighing look in her dark eyes. Egwene had the odd suspicion that Moiraine knew what Nynaeve had been saying.

“You have doubts?” she said.

Egwene stopped short. “I ... no I want to be Aes Sedai. It’s just ... what is at this Eye of the World that could be worth going into the Blight? I thought we were going to the White Tower.”

“The Eye is a famous place. In the Borderlands at least. It is little known in the south. Many famous heroes have sought it out, to take counsel with the Green Man. The Shadow seeks its destruction and what the Shadow seeks I oppose.” Her voice was so melodious that some might not have heard the implacable resolve in it.

“So we will save this famous place from the Shadow.” Egwene nodded to herself. “And then go on to Tar Valon and tell the other Aes Sedai of our victory.” That would be sweet.

“Perhaps,” Moiraine said. “Who can know for certain what the future holds. It might prove prudent to remain silent about what we discover in the north. That is one of the things you will learn in Tar Valon. The value and power of secrecy. I will see you delivered to the White Tower, Egwene al’Vere, have no fear of that.” The Aes Sedai held her with her gaze. “You have it in you to be one of the most powerful Aes Sedai in living memory. I would not allow such potential to go to waste.”

The slap of bare feet on the wooden floorboards interrupted her, much to Egwene’s annoyance. Nynaeve  hurried down the hall, wet-haired and hastily-dressed. Her scowls were for Moiraine this time though, to Egwene she gave only a concerned glance.

“Being a Wisdom isn’t a waste of any woman’s potential,” she said. “You leave the girl in peace Aes Sedai. Egwene, I’m not done talking to you. Go on up to our room.”

Moiraine was not impressed by Nynaeve’s outburst. “Oh, but I think you  _ are _ done ,Wisdom. All that should be said has been said. And much that should not have been. But this is not a conversation that should be had in the corridor on an inn. Be on your way and get what rest you can; tomorrow will be a long day. Egwene, come with me.”

She set off in that stately walk that Egwene couldn’t quite emulate. Yet. She made to follow her but Nynaeve put a restraining hand on her forearm. “It’s not too late to turn back. You would be safe in the Theren, happy. There’s nothing in Tar Valon you need that couldn’t be found at home.”

Egwene pulled free. “That’s for me to judge, not you.” She hurried after the Aes Sedai, leaving Nynaeve to stare strickenly.

Moiraine led the way to the richly appointed bedroom that Master Gill had allotted her. When Egwene caught up the Aes Sedai was standing in the centre of the room, atop the thick, elaborately woven carpet, seemingly deep in thought.

“There was more you wanted to tell me, Moiraine Sedai?”  _ The most powerful Aes Sedai in living memory, that’s a lot better than being a Wisdom. Or a  _ ta’veren _. _

She was weighing Egwene with her eyes again. Her face gave away nothing of what she thought. “You have the makings of a fine Aes Sedai. Need more be said? I think not. Yet, the Tower has not survived as long as it has by taking chances.” She advanced slowly on Egwene as she spoke, glided past her, and shut the bedroom door with a soft click.

“You are fond of the three boys,” Moiraine said. “There is nothing wrong with that. But in the White Tower you will find that male company is ... discouraged. They can be a troublesome influence on initiates, especially if lines of authority have not yet been firmly established.”

“I understand. Almost any ill can be traced back to a man doing something he shouldn’t have.”

Moiraine nodded. “That would pass muster, even under the Oath Rod.” She stood very close. Something about her careful examination of Egwene made the girl’s heart beat faster. “You are a passionate young woman. In the White Tower, such passions are expected to be suppressed ... or to be channelled in a more healthy direction. The polite term we use is ‘pillow friends’. Have you ever kissed another woman?”

Egwene gaped. She had asked such a personal question in the same tone she might have used to ask if Egwene had ever tasted venison. “I ... I don’t see that that’s anyone’s business but ...” She trailed off under the older woman’s suddenly intense stare.

“You have not,” Moiraine murmured, pacing a slow circle around Egwene. “This, too, I will teach you.” She tugged at the towel that was all that hid Egwene’s nakedness and it easily fell free, exposing the girl’s bottom. Instinctively she clutched her bundled clothes to her chest.

The Aes Sedai’s fingers traced a cool line down Egwene’s spine. She helped herself to an experimental squeeze of one buttock and made an approving sound.

Nervousness made Egwene’s breath come quickly, but she could not deny a rising excitement.  _ If this is the Aes Sedai way ... _ When Moiraine completed another circuit around her, and stared at her with those dark, slightly slanted eyes, she couldn’t help but gulp. And when she took her face between her hands and kissed her, Egwene did not resist. It felt nice. Not as heated as the other times she had been kissed, but nice. Moiraine lips were soft and skilful, but even in this there was a deliberateness about her, a calculation. When she pulled back and gave her that weighing stare again, Egwene dropped her bundle to the floor. The Aes Sedai took in the sight of her pert young breasts, and the erect nipples that crowned them. She smiled, took Egwene’s hand and led her to the bed.

The soft mattress gave pleasantly beneath her back when Moiraine lightly pushed her over. She caressed the inside of Egwene’s thigh, stroking her gently until her legs, and her lower lips, parted slightly in welcome. She slid a finger inside Egwene’s wetness and brought a gasp of pleasure from her lips.

“You want this,” Moiraine mused. “That changes matters.”

The Aes Sedai reached back and deftly undid the buttons on her dress. She shrugged out of it, letting it pool around her feet. Soon her silken shift joined it, the rich garment discarded as though it were of inconsequential. Her eyes were half closed and her lips pursed prettily when she began undoing the buttons on her lacy white bloomers. When they, too, fell, Egwene beheld Moiraine in all her naked glory. The woman was beautiful, much as she might have liked to deny it. Her pale skin stood in stark contrast to her glossy black hair, artfully curled and matched in colour by the neatly trimmed triangle atop her sex. Her breasts were no larger than Egwene’s, but her nipples were much darker, small brown nubs that she had a sudden impulse to suck upon.

Egwene was not one to deny herself. She sat up and squeezed Moiraine’s breasts in her hands. Warm and soft. She lowered her head and took the Aes Sedai’s nipple in her mouth, suckling upon it experimentally. Moiraine murmured encouragingly, but other than the thrill of doing something new Egwene felt no great pleasure, so she quickly stopped.

Rising up, she kissed Moiraine’s lips hungrily. The Aes Sedai wrapped the girl in her embrace and probed her mouth with her tongue.

Egwene fell back to the bed, Moiraine’s lips still locked on hers. Once more a finger probed her slit, setting her to squirming beneath the more experienced woman’s skilful caress. Egwene pawed at the Aes Sedai’s smooth buttocks.

Too soon the Moiraine left her embrace. She sat gracefully on the bed, close to Egwene’s head and rearranged her tousled hair for her. “Do as I do,” she said softly, “and I promise you will not regret it.” She lay on her side, her hand brushing over Egwene’s breast and belly, going lower once more. But it wasn’t her fingers with which she touched her sex this time.

Egwene let out an embarrassingly girlish whimper when Moiraine first kissed her lower lips. It was immediately apparent that the woman knew her way around down there, she soon had Egwene moaning wantonly, despite her best efforts at reserve.

It took a while, when Moiraine’s tongue finally stopped its probing, for Egwene to figure out why. Her moans turned to wordless sounds of question and disappointment and she opened her eyes. When she did she was treated to a close view of Moiraine’s pussy. It looked no different than a normal woman’s would, though she supposed that should not be a surprise really. The Aes Sedai had arched her slender leg over Egwene’s head, presenting herself for the younger woman’s attention. Egwene took hold of the woman’s hips and pulled her down to her waiting tongue, determined to be the best pussy-licker there had ever been, better even than Moiraine was.

Vague awareness of a sound at the bedroom door floated across her mind, but Egwene’s thoughts were too full of Moiraine to pay heed; full of her taste, her scent, her so-skilful tongue that now lapped once more at Egwene’s slit, welcome reward for her own fervent efforts.

She wrapped her arms around Moiraine’s hips and pushed her tongue as far inside the woman as it would go. The hair around her sex tickled Egwene’s cheeks and when she opened her eyes she could see Moiraine’s hairless little butthole.

Movement at the edge of her vision drew Egwene’s eye. Nynaeve’s lips moved soundlessly, as though she were too angry to get the words out; her expression told all instead. It took a moment for what she was seeing to pierce the haze of Egwene’s lust.  _ Nynaeve is here!  _ Her heart started racing even faster, memories of all the scolding’s she had ever suffered as Nynaeve’s apprentice suddenly flashing through her mind.

The Wisdom marched into the room, lips still writhing angrily. Between one step and the next, silence became sound. “... me! You leave that girl alone!”

Moiraine gave a loud  _ tsk _ of vexation. She lifted her head from between Egwene’s spread legs, her lips glistening wetly. “Do women not teach their daughters basic manners in the Theren? It is very rude to enter someone’s bedchamber unbidden, Wisdom.”

Nynaeve gripped her loose hair in a white-knuckled hand, plainly wishing it were braided so she could give it a proper tug. “Manners? I have no time for manners when my people are being threatened. I knew you were up to something, sneaking around outside the baths. Perhaps I should have known it would be this, but ...” she muttered something under her breath, then finished in a firmer tone, “... You let Egwene go, get up off of her right now, or so help me ...”

Moiraine gave a soft laugh. Completely naked, with her and Egwene’s faces pressed to each other’s private places, she still seemed completely unruffled. “Honestly, Nynaeve. You do have the oddest notions. The girl is no prisoner, unlike you she knows a good opportunity when it is dangled before her nose,” she said mockingly. “Watch.”

The Aes Sedai lifted Egwene’s hips in a surprisingly strong grip and rolled them over. Egwene found herself crouched above Moiraine’s face. That alone was a heady experience, but it only got better when Moiraine’s tongue went to work on her pussy, faster and more demandingly than before. She tossed her head, long brown locks flying free, and moaned loudly.

“Egwene,” Nynaeve gasped. “Come away from there. You can still go home.”

She met the Wisdom’s eyes defiantly. Her embarrassment fought with her outrage at Nynaeve’s constant efforts to hold her back. Outrage won with ease. “What could home possibly offer me compared to all the rest of the world? I’ve outgrown it already.”

Nynaeve looked lost. “I ... you could have whatever you wanted back there. And you’d be safe.”

Moiraine’s tongue flicked against Egwene’s secret nub, bringing a shuddering breath and forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut against the surge of pleasure that coursed through her flesh. Safe. The Theren wasn’t safe. Winternight had proven that. Worse the Theren was small, mediocre. Egwene did not intend to be mediocre; someday stories would be told about her, like they were told about Amerasu or Birgitte Silverbow.

Moiraine’s hands on her buttocks were not as soft as they had been earlier; she gripped where once she had lightly brushed. Nynaeve spoke from somewhere nearby. “You don’t have to go to Tar Valon for this if it’s what you want. Daisy Congar and Doral Thane are both married, with children, but that doesn’t mean they don’t ... visit each other.” She really must be desperate if she was resorting to spreading gossip. “I just want what’s best for you,” she whispered. Something wet and warm touched Egwene’s bottom. It felt like Moiraine’s tongue, but Moiraine was ... it was then that she realised it wasn’t Moiraine gripping her buttocks.

Egwene’s eyes flew open. She shot a look over her shoulder, where a fully-clothed Nynaeve was licking determinedly at her round cheeks. She had barely a moment to register that shocking fact before Nynaeve pressed her tongue against Egwene’s butthole. Egwene did not gasp, or moan this time—she shouted aloud. “Merciful Light!”

Nynaeve was nowhere near as skilful or practiced as Moiraine, but she attended to her task with great fervour, rubbing her tongue up and down Egwene’s butt. It was thrillingly obscene.

She sat on Moiraine’s face while the Aes Sedai skilfully pleasured her pussy and the Wisdom stuck her tongue as far up her dirty little hole as it would go. It was the best feeling she had ever known in her life, it was all of Egwene al’Vere’s greatest dreams come true.

_ Could this Elayne of Rand’s truly be the Daughter-Heir of Andor? If she is, someday I’ll sit on her face, too. Someday her tongue will clean me like Nynaeve’s is now. _

Egwene pinched her own nipples hard, head thrown back, each breath carrying with it a new cry. Moiraine’s pussy lay forgotten before her. She could feel a great wave building within her and knew what it presaged, but she fought it hard, not wanting this moment to end. Try as she did though, she could not hold it back. She came to orgasm with a shriek, spraying her juices all over Moiraine and Nynaeve as they fought to see who could serve her best. She held her pose, as stiff as a board, for a blessedly long moment, then collapsed on the bed like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

Warmth, pleasure, satisfaction. She drifted for a time in the lovely aftermath.

Moiraine’s voice finally pierced her pleasant lethargy. “... can’t say you lack for determination Nynaeve. But you must see that the girl has already made her choice. Tar Valon is her destiny ... as a grubby herb garden is yours. Isn’t that what we agreed?”

“I didn’t agree to anything. Don’t put words in my mouth woman. Or anything else.”

The Aes Sedai laughed softly. Egwene spoke up, intent on putting an end to that argument for good and all. “Tar Valon, yes. It’s the White Tower for me. I’m going to be a great and famous Aes Sedai. Just leave over, Nynaeve. I’m never going back to Emond’s Field. It’s not worthy of me. It never was.”

Nynaeve looked stricken. She turned her face away from the naked women and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  _ As well she might, given the places it has been. I’ll have to remind her of this the next time she gets all bossy. _

There was a long and uncomfortable silence. “If we’re going to be leaving early tomorrow I need to get some sleep,” Nynaeve said at last, in a low, emotionless voice. The stood up and trudged towards the door.

Moiraine sighed, almost sadly. “In time, you will come to see it was for the best Nynaeve.” The Wisdom did not reply. She took her leave of them, pulling the door closed behind her.

Egwene shook her head. “She’s probably jealous because she can’t channel like we can. Some women just begrudge others any accomplishment that they can’t equal, or surpass.”

The Aes Sedai’s weighing look turned cool. “You are very young. And the training takes many years,” she said at last, sounding more like she was talking to herself than Egwene. She looked to the door Nynaeve had just left through and seemed as if she would say more, but then she shook her head and smiled at the young woman in her bed. “So let us attend to what we can here and now. First a test ... of how nimble your fingers are ...”

Egwene did not return to her own bed that night. And it was very late before she finally drifted off to sleep, with her cheek resting against the Aes Sedai’s breast.


	17. The Last Night

CHAPTER 47: The Last Night

Perrin paced alone through the halls of Fal Dara keep. It was a labyrinthine and unfamiliar place, and fear of getting lost kept him near the quarters they’d been assigned. A greater fear, the fear of what the wolves were turning him into, kept him from his bed. Part of him wanted to tap on Anna’s door, to ask if she was okay ... And, if he was being honest, in hopes she would invite him to stay. But he didn’t trust himself alone with her, and he worried that she didn’t trust him either.

So when he saw her sitting on a narrow windowsill, looking out at the starlit night, Perrin’s steps came to a sudden halt.

She turned towards him when she heard the scrape of his boots along the stone floor. The shadows cast on the planes of her face made her look hard and stern. She did not smile to see him, but sighed a sad little sigh. “Hello Perrin. You can’t sleep either then?”

“No. There’s too much to think about.”

“There is.” She licked her lips. “Do you realise that your eyes have begun to glow in the dark, like Elyas’ and Raine’s did? It’s something you might want to be aware of. Folk will wonder why.”

He cursed under his breath, frantically casting his mind back. How many people had seen him wandering the corridors tonight? Too many, was the answer. Even one was too many!

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I’ll try to be more careful.”

“I hope so.”

He was quiet for a time, the unspoken rebuke lingering in the air between them. He knew her mind, he understood it even, but ... “They would have killed us Anna, no matter what we did. Even if we’d surrendered without a fight, they still would have condemned you and Egwene as Darkfriends, and me as Shadowspawn because of my eyes.”

She grimaced. “You don’t know that. The officer just wanted us to explain why we were there. He said we wouldn’t be hurt. He didn’t attack you when you approached, just told you to drop the axe. And then that wolf killed him. And then you ...”

_ And then I killed those other two men _ , he finished silently.  _ But they were hunting us, hunting the wolves. They were enemies of the pack _ . Perrin was torn. He didn’t much like Whitecloaks. But he didn’t much like killing either.

Anna sighed raggedly into the silence. He thought she seemed torn, too.

“His name was Hopper,” Perrin said. When she looked at him confusedly he added, “The wolf they killed. Hopper, because he envied the eagles.”

Anna rose slowly from her seat, and adjusted her coat before she spoke. “Do you know the names of all those wolves who attacked our flocks back on the farm? Because—and I hope you aren’t going to go berserk over it—I happened to shoot quite a few of them. And they didn’t get up again.” Her face was stubbornly set, and there was restrained anger in her voice.

Perrin put his hands in his pockets, and tried to make himself look as small and unthreatening as he could. “That’s different.”

She grunted softly. “Since we’re here, there’s another thing I’ve been meaning to ask you. How long have you been sleeping with Egwene?”

_ Blood and ashes _ . Perrin’s mouth fell open, but he swallowed his first impulsive words, and thought it through. She hadn’t asked  _ if _ he was sleeping with Egwene, and she didn’t sound in any doubt that he was. How did she know? Even Perrin barely knew what to make of what had passed between him and the Mayor’s youngest. He’d thought it just a one-time thing at first, but then she—not long after he and Anna— _ Burn me, I’m not getting out of this one _ . There was nothing for it but to confess the truth.

“She, ah, she threw a party this Bel Tine, and invited me along. Things happened there. I didn’t think she was serious about it. She said she was leaving town to become a Wisdom in some other village. And Wisdoms seldom marry, you know?”

“And?” she said, when he fell silent.

“And ... and afterwards, in the Tinker camp. She came onto me then, too.”

“Yes. I know. I saw,” she said curtly.

_ Blood and bloody ashes _ , he swore silently, head lowering. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

He knew the words were weak even as he said them, and Anna—never one to overly-sweeten the truth—agreed. “You didn’t mean to stick your cock in her mouth, or you didn’t mean for me to find out about it?”

Perrin flinched. “Neither. I’m sorry.”

She turned back to her starlight vigil, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, her face hidden from even his sight. “So am I,” she choked. “If you’re looking for her, she has a room all to herself. Enjoy yourself.”

“Anna, I—”

She sniffed again, as though her nose was running. “It’s fine, Perrin. We never made any promises. I’ll see you tomorrow. I need to get some rest if I’m going to be alert enough to watch your backs out there. It’s what friends are for, after all.”

Friends, she said. Only friends. Perrin turned and stumped his way dejectedly through the halls of Fal Dara keep.

* * *

Despite the hour, Rand could not sleep. Trepidation over what awaited them tomorrow had his mind racing in circles. The Blight. The Eye of the World. The Dark One. He knew nothing of such things, yet Moiraine somehow expected him and his friends to do something to stop the Shadow from ... From what? Even that he did not know. How was he supposed to provide a solution when he didn’t even know what the problem was? Could he? Could any of them? Or was this to be the last night of their lives?

Late in the night, with the moonlight filtering into the room he’d been provided in Fal Dara keep, he still he lay there, abed, tired, but wide awake.

When his door creaked open he was not as alarmed as he might have been were they back in Andor. He doubted Darkfriends or Shadowspawn could pierce Shienaran security so easily. He thought he knew the intruder by their footsteps, but he waited in silence as they approached. When the moonlight touched Egwene’s white nightdress he knew he had been right. She was the least experienced hunter among the Theren folk, and so the least light-footed.

She looked hesitant as she approached his bed; perhaps she could not see him in the dark, to tell if he was awake or not. So he spoke, “I take it you can’t sleep either.”

She sucked in a breath, but when she spoke she was all cool self-possession. “I could, but I wanted to check up on you. You seemed upset earlier.”

Had he? Egwene had a tendency to deflect her own difficulties onto others, but this time she was probably right. “There’s a lot to be upset over.”

She sat on his bedside. “There’s no need to be afraid, Rand.”

His thoughts spun along their well-travelled circle once more, and he decided she was quite wrong about that. But there was no point to saying it. Or of trying to persuade her to go home again—or even to Tar Valon for that matter. Once Egwene had set her mind on doing something she never stopped until it was done. “Be careful tomorrow,” he said instead, “we have no idea of the dangers that wait for us in the Blight. Don’t be too proud to run, okay?”

She sniffed. “Is that what you intend to do?”

“If the alternative is trying to wrestle a Fade? Yes,” he drawled.

“The Pattern chose poorly,” he heard her mutter under her breath. “But at least you’re pretty,” she added, more loudly. Her hand came to rest on his chest, exploring the hardness of his muscles, and her saw her smile in the moonlight.

Rand ignored her habitual put-down, and admired the way the light touched her prettily round face with its strong cheekbones, and those big, dark eyes. He wondered if Marin had looked like that, when she was Egwene’s age.

“It’s cold,” she said.

“The bed is warm,” he whispered. Her smile broadened, and she stood long enough to allow him to move the bedsheets aside. She clambered into his bed, and came to rest against his side.

Her loose hair was freshly washed, and felt silky between his fingers. Her hand slid down over his belly to rest atop his underwear, and he felt himself stiffening at her touch. The warmth of her body was welcome in the cold Shienaran night.

Her words somewhat less so. “You shouldn’t be talking to other girls, Rand. This Elayne, whoever she is. Or Min. Or anyone else.” She slipped her hand into his underwear and took hold of his cock. “This is mine.”

He politely refrained from saying anything about the other boys she’d been involved with. “You’re leaving, remember? You said you were leaving even before you decided to become an Aes Sedai. And Aes Sedai never marry, from what I’ve heard. I’d say that ends the engagement.”

The hand that had been stroking his cock tightened warningly. “Perhaps it does, and perhaps it will. But only when I say so. You’re mine until I pass you on.”

He was fully hard by then. Irritation flashed through him, and he briefly considered telling her about all the others he was intimate with, her own mother included. But that would require him to be mean to her and indiscreet with them, and Rand tried not to be either thing.

Egwene fumbled under the covers, kicking at something. Once satisfied she threw a leg over his waist and knelt above him. She would want to be on top, and that was fine with him. Even if he wasn’t sleepy, he was still tired. Egwene pulled her shift off over her head, tossing her hair once she was free of the garment. The moonlight cast her pretty little breasts and slender body all in white, and darkened her hair to black. The contrast was quite lovely to his eyes. He stared at the light thatch across her sex, and the lips beneath; lips that parted for him when she took him once more in hand and began sinking herself down along his length.

Egwene moaned as he slowly filled her. Her eyes drifted shut, and a little frown tightened her brows. When she had enough of him inside that her hand was no longer needed, she began fondling the muscles of his chest. She couldn’t or wouldn’t take him all inside, but once she’d had her fill she smiled a satisfied little smile and began to ride him.

Rand let her have her way, enjoying the sensation of her hot, slick pussy along his cock; and the sight of her young body bouncing atop him. Her breasts shivered in the moonlight with the speed of her movements. He didn’t try to hold back his pleasure for her sake, because he knew Egwene wouldn’t do the same for him. That was the nature of her strength: you either kept up or you got left behind. Even so, he knew he would be left behind that night when Egwene suddenly stiffened atop him, arching her back as she let out a long, hissing breath.

She held her pose for a long moment, then slowly toppled forward to rest against his chest.

He fondled her bottom as she lay there, and rolled his hips in order to rub himself inside her, seeking release, but it proved beyond him. Egwene grew irritated by the motion, and pulled herself off his cock. Laying beside him, she reached for her discarded nightdress and began pulling it on.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” he said dryly.

She sniffed when her head popped out of the dress again. “Don’t be so full of yourself, Rand al’Thor. You might make a good Warder someday, if only you can learn to mind your place.”

Rand blinked. A Warder, bonded to Egwene ... Well, he’d met Fades and the Dark One, so he knew there were worse fates, but still ...

She finished fixing herself, then patted him on the cheek. “Get some sleep now, there’s a good boy. I expect Moiraine Sedai will want us up early tomorrow.”

With that she climbed out of his bed, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill, then padded back towards the door.

Rand held his silence as he watched her go. Only once he’d heard the door click shut again did he reach down to pat his hand along the floor of the bedroom, seeking and eventually finding his discarded stocking. He’d have to take care of himself if there was to be any hope of his getting some peaceful sleep that night.


	18. A Pebble in the Pond

CHAPTER 49: A Pebble in the Pond

Green leaves covered peacefully spreading branches. Wildflowers made a carpet of bright patches in grasses stirred by a sweet spring breeze. Butterflies fluttered from blossom to blossom, with buzzing bees, and birds trilled their songs.

Gaping, he galloped on, until he suddenly realized that the others had all stopped. Slowly he drew rein, his face frozen in astonishment. Egwene’s eyes were about to come out of her head, and Nynaeve’s jaw had dropped. Anna shook her head vigorously, as if to rattle some sense back into it.

“We have reached safety,” Moiraine said. “This is the Green Man’s place, and the Eye of the World is within. Nothing of the Blight can enter here.”

“I thought it was on the other side of the mountains,” Rand mumbled. He could still see the peaks filling the northern horizon, and the high passes. “You said it was always beyond the passes.”

“This place,” said a deep voice from the trees, “is always where it is. All that changes is where those who need it are.”

A figure stepped out of the foliage, a man-shape as much bigger than Loial as the Ogier was bigger than Rand. A man-shape of woven vines and leaves, green and growing. His hair was grass, flowing to his shoulders; his eyes, huge hazelnuts; his fingernails, acorns. Green leaves made his tunic and trousers; seamless bark, his boots. Butterflies swirled around him, lighting on his fingers, his shoulders, his face. Only one thing spoiled the verdant perfection. A deep fissure ran up his cheek and temple across the top of his head, and in that the vines were brown and withered.

“The Green Man,” Egwene whispered, and the scarred face smiled. For a moment it seemed as if the birds sang louder.

“Of course I am. Who else would be here?” The hazelnut eyes regarded Loial. “It is good to see you, little brother. In the past, many of you came to visit me, but few of recent days.”

Loial scrambled down from his big horse and bowed formally. “You honour me, Treebrother.  _ Tsingu ma choshih, T’ingshen _ .”

Smiling, the Green Man put an arm around the Ogier’s shoulders. Alongside Loial, he looked like a man beside a boy. “There is no honouring, little brother. We will sing Tree Songs together, and remember the Great Trees, and the  _ stedding _ , and hold the Longing at bay.” He studied the others, just now getting down from their horses, and his eyes lit on Perrin. “A Wolfbrother! Do the old times truly walk again then?”

Rand stared at Perrin. For his part, Perrin turned his horse so it was between him and the Green Man, and bent to check the girth. Rand was sure he just wanted to avoid the Green Man’s searching gaze. Suddenly the Green Man spoke to Rand.

“Strange clothes you wear, Child of the Dragon. Has the Wheel turned so far? Do the People of the Dragon return to the first Covenant? But you wear a sword. That is neither now nor then.”

Rand had to work moisture in his mouth before he could speak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you mean?”

The Green Man touched the brown scar across his head. For a moment he seemed confused. “I ... cannot say. My memories are torn and often fleeting, and much of what remains is like leaves visited by caterpillars. Yet, I am sure ... No, it is gone. But you are welcome here. You, Moiraine Sedai, are more than a surprise. When this place was made, it was made so that none could find it twice. How have you come here?”

“Need,” Moiraine replied. “My need, and most of all the world’s need. We have come to see the Eye of the World.”

The Green Man sighed, the wind sighing through thick-leafed branches. “Then it has come again. That memory remains whole. The Dark One stirs. I have feared it. Every turning of years, the Blight strives harder to come inside, and this turn the struggle to keep it out has been greater than ever since the beginning. Come, I will take you.”

Leading the bay, Rand followed the Green Man with the other Emond’s Fielders, all staring as if they could not decide whether to look at the Green Man or the forest. The Green Man was a legend, of course, with stories told about him, and the Tree of Life, in front of every fireplace in the Theren, and not just for the children. But after the Blight, the trees and flowers would have been a wonder of normality even if the rest of the world was not still trapped in winter.

Perrin hung a little to the rear. When Rand glanced back, the big, curly-haired youth looked as if he did not want to hear anything else the Green Man had to say. He could understand that.  _ Child of the Dragon _ . Warily he watched the Green Man, walking ahead with Moiraine and Lan, butterflies surrounding him in a cloud of yellows and reds.  _ What did he mean? No. I don’t want to know. _

Even so, his step felt lighter, his legs springier. The uneasiness still lay in his gut, churning his stomach, but the fear had become so diffuse it might as well be gone. He did not think he could expect more, not with the Blight half a mile away, even if Moiraine was right about nothing from the Blight being able to enter here. The thousands of burning points piercing his bones had winked out; at the very moment he came within the Green Man’s domain, he was sure.  _ It’s him that winked them out _ , he thought,  _ the Green Man, and this place. _

Egwene felt it, and Nynaeve, too, the soothing peace, the calm of beauty. He could tell. They wore small, serene smiles, and brushed flowers with their fingers, pausing to smell, and breathing deep.

When the Green Man noticed, he said, “Flowers are meant to adorn. The plants or humans, it is much the same. None mind, so long as you don’t take too many.” And he began plucking one from this plant and one from that, never more than two from any. Soon Nynaeve and Egwene wore blossoms in their hair, pink wildrose and yellowbell and white Morningstar; the Wisdom’s braid seemed a garden of pink and white to her waist. Anna’s hair had almost completely disappeared beneath a cap of flowers. Even Moiraine received a pale garland of morningstar on her brow, woven so deftly that the flowers still seemed to be growing.

Rand was not sure they were not growing. The Green Man tended his forest garden as he walked, while he talked softly to Moiraine, taking care of whatever needed care without really thinking about it. His hazelnut eyes caught a crooked limb on a climbing wildrose, forced into an awkward angle by the blossom-covered limb of an apple tree, and he paused, still talking, to run his hand along the bend. Rand was not sure if his eyes were playing tricks, or if thorns actually did bend out of the way so as not to prick those green fingers. When the towering shape of the Green Man moved on, the limb ran straight and true, spreading red petals among the white of apple blossoms. He bent to cup one huge hand around a tiny seed lying on a patch of pebbles, and when he straightened, a small shoot had roots through the rocks to good soil.

“All things must grow where they are, according to the Pattern,” he explained over his shoulder, as if apologizing, “and face the turning of the Wheel, but the Creator will not mind if I give just a little help.”

Rand led Red around the shoot, careful not to let the bay’s hooves crush it. It did not seem right to destroy what the Green Man had done just to avoid an extra step. Egwene smiled at him, one of her secret smiles, and touched his arm. She was so pretty, with her unbound hair full of flowers, that he smiled back at her until she blushed and lowered her eyes.

Into the heart of the spring forest the Green Man took them, to an arched opening in the side of a hill. It was a simple stone arch, tall and white, and on the keystone was a circle halved by a sinuous line, one half rough, the other smooth. The ancient symbol of Aes Sedai. The opening itself was shadowed.

For a moment everyone simply looked in silence. Then Moiraine removed the garland from her hair and gently hung it on the limb of a sweetberry bush beside the arch. It was as if her movement restored speech.

“It’s in there?” Nynaeve asked. “What we’ve come for?”

“I’d really like to see the Tree of Life,” Mat said, not taking his eyes off the halved circle above them. “We can wait that long, can’t we?”

The Green Man gave Rand an odd look, then shook his head. “ _ Avendesora _ is not here. I have not rested beneath its ungentle branches in two thousand years.”

“The Tree of Life is not why we came,” Moiraine said firmly. She gestured to the arch. “In there, is.”

“I will not go in with you,” the Green Man said. The butterflies around him swirled as if the shared some agitation. “I was set to guard it long, long ago, but it makes me uneasy to come too close. I feel myself being unmade; my end is linked with it, somehow. I remember the making of it. Some of the making. Some.” His hazelnut eyes stared, lost in memory, and he fingered his scar. “It was the first days of the Breaking of the World, when the joy of victory over the Dark One turned bitter with the knowledge that all might yet be shattered by the weight of the Shadow. A hundred of them made it, men and women together. The greatest Aes Sedai works were always done so, joining  _ saidin _ and  _ saidar _ , as the True Source is joined. They died, all, to make it pure, while the world was torn around them. Knowing they would die, they charged me to guard it against the need to come. It was not what I was made for, but all was breaking apart, and they were alone, and I was all they had. It was not what I was made for, but I have kept the faith.” He looked down at Moiraine, nodding to himself. “I have kept faith, until it was needed. And now it ends.”

“You have kept the faith better than most of us who gave you the charge,” the Aes Sedai said. “Perhaps it will not come as badly as you fear.”

The scarred, leafy head shook slowly from side to side. “I know an ending when it comes, Aes Sedai. I will find another place to make things grow.” Nutbrown eyes swept sadly over the green forest. “Another place, perhaps. When you come out, I will see you again, if there is time.” With that he strode away, trailing butterflies, becoming one with the forest more completely than Lan’s cloak ever could.

“What did he mean?” Mat demanded. “If there’s time?”

“Come,” Moiraine said. And she stepped through the arch. Lan went at her heels.

Rand was not sure what he expected when he followed. The hair stirred uneasily on his arms, and rose on the back of his neck. But it was only a corridor, its polished walls rounded overhead like the arch, winding gently downward. There was headroom enough and to spare for Loial; there would have been room enough for the Green Man. The smooth floor was slick to the eye like oiled slate, yet somehow gave a sure footing. Seamless, white walls glittered with uncounted flecks in untold colours, giving a low, soft light even after the sunlit archway vanished around a curve behind. He was sure the light was no natural thing, but he sensed it was benign, too.  _ Then why is your skin still crawling? _ Down they went, and down.

“There,” Moiraine said at last, pointing. “Ahead.”

And the corridor opened into a vast, domed space, the rough, living rock of its ceiling dotted with clumps of glowing crystals. Below it, a pool took up the entire cavern, except for the walkway around it, perhaps five paces wide. In the oval shape of an eye, the pool was lined about its rim with a low, flat edging of crystals that glowed with a duller, yet fiercer, light than those above. Its surface was as smooth as glass and as clear as the Winespring Water. Rand felt as if his eyes could penetrate it forever, but he could not see any bottom to it.

“The Eye of the World,” Moiraine said softly beside him.

As he looked around in wonder, he realized that the long years since the making—three thousand of them—had worked their way while no-one came. Not all the crystals in the dome glowed with the same intensity. Some were stronger, some weaker; some flickered, and others were only faceted lumps to sparkle in a captured light. Had all shone, the dome would have been as bright as noonday, but they made it only late afternoon, now. Dust coated the walkway, and bits of stone and even crystal.  _ Long years waiting, while the Wheel turned and ground. _

“But what is it?” Mat asked uneasily. “That doesn’t look like any water I ever saw.” He kicked a dark pebble over the edge. “It—”

The stone struck the glassy surface and slid into the pool without a splash, or so much as a ripple. As it sank, the rock began to swell, growing ever larger, larger and more attenuated, a blob the size of his head that Rand could almost see through, a faint blur as wide as his arm was long. Then it was gone. He thought his skin would creep right off his body.

“What is it?” he demanded, and was shocked at the hoarse harshness of his own voice.

“It might be called the essence of  _ saidin _ .” The Aes Sedai’s words echoed round the dome. “The essence of the male half of the True Source, the pure essence of the Power wielded by men before the Time of Madness. The Power to mend the seal on the Dark One’s prison, or to break it open completely.”

“The Light shine on us and protect us,” Nynaeve whispered. Egwene clutched her as if she wanted to hide behind the Wisdom. Even Lan stirred uneasily, though there was no surprise in his eyes.

Stone thudded into Rand’s shoulders, and he realized he had backed as far as the wall, as far from the Eye of the World as he could get. He would have pushed himself right through the wall, if he could have. Mat, too, was splayed out against the stone as flat as he could make himself. Perrin was staring at the pool with his axe half drawn. His eyes shone, yellow and fierce. Anna had edged back towards the exit.

“I always wondered,” Loial said uneasily. “When I read about it, I always wondered what it was. Why? Why did they do it? And how?”

“No-one living knows.” Moiraine no longer looked at the pool. She was watching Rand and his two friends, studying them, her eyes weighing. “Neither the how, nor more of the why than that it would be needed one day, and that that need would be the greatest and most desperate the world had faced to that time. Perhaps ever would face.

“Many in Tar Valon have attempted to find a way to use this Power, but it is as untouchable for any woman as the moon is for a cat. Only a man could channel it, but the last male Aes Sedai is nearly three thousand years gone. Yet the need they saw was a desperate one. They worked through the taint of the Dark One on  _ saidin _ to make it, and make it pure, knowing that doing so would kill them all. Male Aes Sedai and female together. The Green Man spoke true. The greatest wonders of the Age of Legends were done in that way,  _ saidin _ and  _ saidar _ together. All the women in Tar Valon, all the Aes Sedai in all the courts and cities, even with those in the lands beyond the Waste, even counting those who may still live beyond the Aryth Ocean, could not fill a spoon with this Power, lacking men to work with them.”

Rand’s throat rasped as if he had been screaming. “Why did you bring us here?”

“Because you are  _ ta’veren _ .” The Aes Sedai’s face was unreadable. Her eyes shimmered, and seemed to pull at him. “Because the Dark One’s power will strike here, and because it must be confronted and stopped, or the Shadow will cover the world. There is no need greater than that. Let us go out into the sunlight again, while there is yet time.” Without waiting to see if they would follow, she started back up the corridor with Lan, who stepped perhaps a bit more quickly than usual for him. Anna all but trod on the Warder’s heels and Egwene and Nynaeve hurried behind her.

Rand edged along the wall—he could not make himself get even one step closer to what the pool was—and scrambled into the corridor in a tangle with Mat and Perrin. He would have run if it had not meant trampling those ahead. He could not stop shaking even when he was back outside.

“I do not like this, Moiraine,” Nynaeve said angrily when the sun shone on them again. “I believe the danger is as great as you say or I would not be here, but this is—”

“I have found you at last.”

Rand jerked as if a rope had tightened around his neck. The words, the voice ... for a moment he believed it was Ba’alzamon for the speaker had a similar accent, but the man who walked out of the trees, face hidden by his green cowl, was shorter than Ba’alzamon, and made to look shorter still by his stooped back. His clothes looked finely made, but did not seem to fit him properly, as if he had borrowed them from someone else. He was no Fade at least; the breeze stirred his cloak.

“Who are you?” Lan’s stance was cautious, his hand on his sword hilt. “How did you come here? If you are seeking the Green Man he should be back soon.”

The newcomer was silent for a rudely long time. He nodded his head throughout, as though listening to someone giving instructions, but no voice spoke that Rand could hear.

He exchanged confused glances with Anna, who clutched her bow and slid closer to Rand, eyeing the stranger warily.

At last the man answered. “Crude tongue. Simplistic, without art. A sign of the times? Hmmm.” The hand that pointed to Mat was old and shrivelled to scarcely human, lacking a fingernail and with knuckles gnarled like knots in a piece of rope. Mat took a step back, eyes widening. “He guided me. An old thing, an old friend, an old enemy. But he is not the one I seek,” he finished. The hooded head swivelled from Perrin, to Lan, to Rand as if he were looking for something.

Moiraine straightened to her full height, no more than shoulder high to any man there, but suddenly seeming as tall as the hills. Her voice rang like a bell, demanding, “Who are you?”

Shrivelled hands pushed back the hood, and Rand goggled. The old man was older than old; he made Cenn Buie look like a child in the bloom of health. The skin of his face was like crazed parchment drawn tight over a skull, then pulled tighter still. Wispy tufts of brittle white hair stood at odd places on his scabrous scalp. His ears were withered bits like scraps of ancient leather; his dark eyes sunken, peering out of his head as if from the ends of tunnels.

“I will not translate my name into your childish language,” the old man said. “You may call me ... Aginor.”

“The Light protect—” Loial began, his voice shaking, and cut off abruptly when Aginor looked at him.

“The Forsaken,” Mat said hoarsely, “are bound in Shayol Ghul—”

“Were bound.” Aginor smiled; his yellowed teeth had the look of fangs. “The Wheel grinds exceedingly fine over three thousand years imprisoned.” His sunken eyes slid to the arched entranceway, and his face grew hungry. “So long without,” he said softly. “So long.”

A tinny, feminine, voice spoke in a language Rand did not know. The voice seemed to come from near the Forsaken but there was no-one there that he could see; Aginor responded to it with no sign of surprise. “Yes, yes. Of course she is.” His gaze passed from Moiraine to Nynaeve and back. “Some of us are bound no longer. The seals weaken, Aes Sedai. Like Ishamael, we walk the world again, and soon the rest of us will come. I was too close to this world in my captivity, too close to the grinding of the Wheel, but soon the Great Lord of the Dark will be free, and give me new flesh, and the world will be ours once more. You will have no Lews Therin Kinslayer, this time. No Lord of the Morning to save you. I know the one I seek now.”

Lan’s sword sprang from its scabbard too fast for Rand’s eye to follow. Yet the Warder hesitated, eyes flickering to Moiraine, to Nynaeve. The two women stood well apart; to put himself between either of them and the Forsaken would put him further from the other. Only for a heartbeat the hesitation lasted, but as the Warder’s feet moved, Aginor raised his hand. It was a scornful gesture, a flipping of his gnarled fingers as if to shoo away a fly. The Warder flew backwards through the air as though a huge fist had caught him. With a dull thud Lan struck the stone arch, hanging there for an instant before dropping in a flaccid heap, his sword lying near his outstretched hand.

“NO!” Nynaeve screamed.

“Be still!” Moiraine commanded, but before anyone else could move the Wisdom’s knife had left her belt, and she was running toward the Forsaken, her small blade upraised.

“The Light blind you,” she cried, striking at Aginor’s chest.

Her blade struck nothing and rebounded from it as though from a brick wall. Aginor gave a single, incredulous snort of laughter. “ _ Manar. Ga doko saidar, narfa’inda? _ ” He shook his head. “Are you truly a Servant of All, girl? And this man, too?” He flicked a glance at Lan’s unconscious form. “Surely standards cannot have fallen so low.”

A convulsion wracked Nynaeve from head to toe, as if she had been cracked like a whip. Her knife dropped uselessly from dangling fingers. She was lifted into the air by an invisible force until her toes spasmed a foot above the ground, flowers raining from her hair and her face twisting in pain.

Two arrows struck at the Forsaken. They proved as useless as the Wisdom’s knife; hitting a wall of nothing before falling to the ground. Anna and Mat lowered their bows, pale-faced and gaping.

Perrin’s axe whirled into his hands, and his eyes glowed golden and fierce. He ran at Aginor. Mat pulled the dagger from Shadar Logoth from its sheath and charged with him, calling for Nynaeve.

Egwene moved, too, and Rand saw that she was going to help Nynaeve. “Egwene, no!” he shouted, but she did not stop. He took his hand from his still-sheathed sword and threw himself at her, thudding into her before she took her third step, carrying them both to the ground. Egwene landed under him with a gasp, immediately thrashing to get free.

“No!” Rand called. “You can’t fight the Forsaken!”

Aginor glanced at them all unconcernedly ... and smiled.

Rand felt the air stir above him like the crack of a giant’s whip. Mat and Perrin, not even halfway to the Forsaken, were sent flying backwards to sprawl on the ground. Even Anna, farther back, was knocked from her feet.  _ He could have killed them all, us all, with as much or less effort than it took to knock them over. _

“Good,” Aginor said. He let the unconscious Nynaeve crumple to the ground. “A fitting place for you. If you answer my questions and learn to ...” He gave an irritated scowl, something that none of their attacks had managed to inspire, then snarled a question. “ _ Kazath bak’ye, ‘asaparano’? _ ”

The strange, bodiless voice spoke, echoing oddly even though they were out in the open. “ ‘Abase’, would be the closest approximation,  _ Mia’cova _ .”

“Learn to ... abase yourself properly in worship and I might let you live,” Aginor continued. The irritation remained on his face, banishing the smug playfulness of before and adding an extra wariness to Rand’s near-panic.

Hastily Rand scrambled to his feet. Perhaps he could not fight the Forsaken—no ordinary human could—but he would not let one believe for a minute that he was grovelling before them. He tried to help Egwene up, but she slapped his hands away and stood by herself, angrily brushing off her dress. Mat, Perrin and Anna had also stubbornly pushed themselves unsteadily erect.

Aginor’s scowl deepened and he stalked hungrily towards the entryway to the Eye. “Enough! I do not feel like you savages proper respect today teaching. Time it is past to end this!”

Moiraine had held back throughout, head lowered in concentration. Now she looked up and fixed Aginor with a dark, piercing stare. “Yes, Forsaken,” she said, her voice as cold as deepwinter ice. “Past time!”

The Aes Sedai’s hand rose, clutching her  _ angreal, _ and the ground fell away beneath Aginor’s feet. Flame roared from the chasm, whipped to a frenzy by wind howling in from every direction, sucking a maelstrom of leaves into the fire, which seemed to solidify into a red-streaked yellow jelly of pure heat. In the middle of it Aginor stood, his feet supported only by air. The Forsaken looked startled, but then he smiled and took a step forward. It was a slow step, as if the fire tried to root him to the spot, but he took it, and then another.

The odd voice spoke again, barely audible over the fury of Moiraine’s attack. “ _ Vadin sor’uiwa. Saidar vaakajane ja’djanzei, Mia’cova. _ ” The Forsaken’s advance sped up. His cloak was not even singed.

Aginor stepped across the air, toward the edge of the flames. “At least one of you is not completely without Power. Perhaps this one I will keep alive, for a time, to my questions answer. The rest are plainly worthless,” he said as he emerged from the inferno. His gaze shifted from Moiraine to the clustered Thereners.

“Run!” Moiraine commanded. Her face was white with strain. “All of you run!”

For once, they were happy to heed her orders. He saw Mat and Perrin dashing away to the east. Loial’s long legs carried him south into the trees.

Anna seized Rand’s forearm in a fear-strengthened grip. “Hurry, we need to get out of here!” Together they ran after Loial.

They were at the edge of the woodland clearing when Rand glanced to his side and saw that Egwene was not there. What he saw when he looked back brought him skidding to a halt.

Anna was tugged to a stop as well, her grip on his arm unyielding. “What are you doing?” she cried.

Egwene, that brave fool, stood rigid back by the entrance to the Eye. She had not moved a step. Her face was pale and her eyes were closed. It was not fear that held her, he realized. She was trying to throw her puny, untrained wielding of the Power against the Forsaken.

“Egwene! Run!” he shouted at her. Her eyes opened, staring at him, angry with him for interfering, liquid with hate for Aginor, with fear of the Forsaken.

Rand went back to get her. He did. There was no choice. It was what he had to do, what he always did, he somehow knew. But he made it only a single step.

Anna dug her heels into the soft earth of the Green Man’s garden, holding on to Rand’s arm for dear life. “Don’t be a fool!” she said in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice. “He’ll kill you!”

“I don’t care. Egwene!” Rand said, panic raising his own pitch, too.

Anna’s dark eyes were very wide. They implored him. “It’s her life, let her fight if she wants! But if you go back there, then I have to go back, too, and I don’t fancy my chances of beating a Forsaken with my bow.”

Rand stared at her. In his mind’s eye he saw Anna engulfed in an inferno like the one Moiraine had tried to use against Aginor. In his mind’s eye he saw Egwene engulfed in the same _. I can’t ... I can’t ... _

When he looked back he saw Aginor’s withered face turn from the faltering Aes Sedai to Egwene ... and that irritated sneer return in force.

_ Light help me. I’m sorry ... Egwene _ .

“Run,” Anna urged, pulling at his arm. And Rand let himself be pulled in a different direction.

He felt a tearing inside himself, as if a part of him was being ripped away like a tree toppled by a storm, its roots torn free of the earth. Yet still he ran.

There was a single shriek. Rand had no choice but to look back. Through gaps in the trees behind, he saw, for an instant, a dark, girl-sized form standing within a ball of flame. Then it frayed away, to ash, to smoke. So hot was the fire, that in heartbeats nothing remained of the girl within. Her cleverness and her beauty and her ambitions, all snuffed out with another scornful flip of the Forsaken’s gnarled fingers.

Tears burned their way down Rand’s cheeks. He ran on, blindly, into the woods.


	19. The Eye of the World

CHAPTER 50: The Eye of the World

A woman’s screams chased them through the woods. Moiraine’s screams. The screams of an Aes Sedai no less, each more throat-wrenching than the last.

The land tended upward the way Rand went, but fear lent their legs strength and they ate ground in long strides, tearing through flowering bushes and tangles of wildrose, scattering petals, not caring if thorns ripped their clothes or even their flesh. Moiraine had stopped screaming. It seemed as if the shrieks had gone on forever, but he knew they had lasted only moments altogether. Aginor would go to the Eye he thought, to do whatever he had come here to do. They would have time to ... To what? Where could they run? Outside the Green Man’s sanctuary there was only the Blight.  _ We got through it once, we can do it again. We have to. _

The land grew ever steeper, but he scrambled on, pulling himself forward by handfuls of undergrowth, rocks and dirt and leaves spilling down the slope from under his feet, finally crawling when the slant became too great. All throughout the climb he held on to Anna’s hand, suddenly unwilling to leave her so much as an arms-length away. Ahead, above, the hill levelled out a little. Panting, they scrabbled their way the last few feet. Rand stood up, and stared, wanting to howl aloud.

Ten paces in front of him, the hilltop dropped away sharply. He knew what he would see before he reached it, but he took the steps anyway, each heavier than the one before, hoping there might be some track, a goat path, anything. At the edge he looked down a sheer hundred-foot drop, a stone wall as smooth as planed timber. He could see the Blight down below, all its sickly discoloured foliage looking as small as it was deadly.

“If we follow the edge of the Green Man’s domain we should be able to find a way out,” said Anna. Rand nodded wordlessly and they set off, skidding back down the slope and heading southwest.

“Don’t blame yourself. Blame me if you must,” Anna gasped out as they ran.

He didn’t need to ask what she meant. “It wasn’t your fault at all. Stop thinking that. Aginor did it, he’s the only one to blame.”  _ I should have saved her _ .

After a time he noticed signs of another’s passage ahead, as though a large body had burst through the bushes in his haste.  _ Loial must have gone this way _ . He ran on, pulling Anna with him.

Following the very obvious tracks Loial left behind, they soon emerged from the woods. A large, flat meadow stretched before them and just ahead, near the centre of it stood a frantic Loial, ears twitching wildly.

The Green Man was with him, towering over the giant Ogier like a parent over a child. He made soothing gestures and spoke words that Rand was too far off to hear. Perhaps the Green Man could help them escape. If his sanctuary could appear anywhere, then ... He and Anna ran towards the pair.

They didn’t make it more than half-way to them.

A bright vertical line of silver light appeared in the air before them. It seemed to rotate and then abruptly snapped open, becoming the four edges of a doorway hovering in the air itself.

“Light,” Anna gasped as they skidded to a halt, gaping.

On the other side of the doorway he could see the underground chamber where the Eye of the World was kept. A chamber far behind them, but now right in front. Dismay forced a groan from his lips when the bent-backed monster who named himself Aginor walked into view.

Rand stood in front of Anna and pulled Tam’s sword from its sheath. It was a futile gesture he knew, but he would at least die with his father’s sword in his hands. He bared his teeth at the Forsaken in a wordless snarl.

Aginor stepped through the gate in the air and let it snap shut behind him. Deep-sunken eyes burned in that drawn parchment face; somehow, it seemed less withered than before, more fleshed, as if Aginor had fed well on something. Those eyes were fixed on him, yet when Aginor spoke, it was almost to himself.

“Ba’alzamon will give rewards beyond mortal dreaming for the one who brings you to Shayol Ghul. Yet my dreams have always been beyond those of other men, and I left mortality behind millennia ago. What difference if you serve the Great Lord of the Dark alive or dead? None, to the spread of the Shadow. Why should I share power with you? Why should I bend knee to you? I, who faced Lews Therin Telamon in the Hall of the Servants itself. I, who threw my might against the Lord of the Morning and met him stroke for stroke. I think not.”

“This shall not be!” The Green Man strode towards them with a voice like lightning striking an ancient oak. “You do not belong here!”

Aginor spared him a brief, contemptuous glance. “Begone! Your time is ended, all your kind but you long since dust. Live what life is left to you and be glad you are beneath my notice.”

“This is my place,” the Green Man said, “and you shall hurt no living thing here.”

Aginor made that hateful gesture again and the Green Man roared as smoke rose from the vines that wove him. The wind in the trees echoed his pain. “Be off with you creature, my patience is tried.”

“You try my patience,” the tinny voice said, as though correcting him. The Forsaken scowled.

Aginor turned back to Rand, as if the Green Man had been dealt with, but one long stride and massive, leafy arms wrapped themselves around him, raising him high, crushing him against a chest of thick creepers. Aginor looked incredulously into hazelnut eyes dark with anger. His gnarled hands grasping the Green Man’s head as though he could wrench it off with his stick-like arms. Flames shot up where those hands touched, vines withering, leaves falling. The Green Man bellowed as thick, dark smoke poured out between the vines of his body. On and on he roared, as if all of him were coming out of his mouth with the smoke that billowed between his lips.

Suddenly Aginor jerked in the Green Man’s grasp. The Forsaken’s hands tried to push him away. One hand flung wide ... and a tiny creeper burst through the wrinkled skin. A fungus, such as rings trees in the deep shadows of the forest, ringed his arm, sprang from nowhere to full-grown, swelling to cover the length of it. Aginor thrashed, and a shoot of stinkweed ripped open his carapace, spilling blood that was as red as that of any normal man. His shirt was torn open, revealing a necklace strung with half a dozen strange medallions, each one finely made, oddly elaborate compared to the hand-me-down clothes he wore. Lichens dug in their roots and split tiny cracks across the leather of his face, nettles grew in the hollow of his right eye socket and popped the milky orb within like a rotten egg. The Forsaken screamed.

“ _ Glados ... kakamo ... gemarise ... no'shukri! _ ” gasped Aginor, in what Rand thought would surely be his last words.

But one of the medallions on his flat chest lit up, a yellow glow appearing at its centre, looking almost like an eye. “ _ Marath'sor ye, _ ” said that tinny voice, coming, Rand was shocked to realise, from the medallion itself.

Something abruptly knocked the Green Man backwards. He staggered a few steps, his massive legs shaking beneath his weight, smoke pouring from his plant-like flesh. Loial ran towards him, crying out in wordless grief.

Aginor fell to the earth and jerked as all the things that grew in the dark places, all the things with spores, all the things that loved the dank, swelled and grew, tearing at cloth and flesh ... but where the Green Man’s power ripped at his flesh, something else worked to restore it, healing him just as Moiraine had healed Tam.

Rand’s mouth was as dry as dust; his tongue felt as shrivelled as Aginor. He stepped forward and swung the sword downwards, hoping that the Green Man had weakened Aginor enough that the blade would touch him. But his strike ended much as Nynaeve’s had, with a jarring clang in mid-air.  _ There has to be some way to get away from him. Some way to defeat him! There has to be! Some way! _

The Forsaken looked up at him with a hatred that Rand found he could easily match. There was fear in the man’s remaining eye as well though, for all his power. “ _ Spiating’ye _ ,” groaned the Forsaken desperately. And he reached out ...

It was not with his crippled hands that he reached, but something else. Rand could not see him reach but he could  _ feel _ it. His grasp was aimed not towards Rand, but somewhere far away ... far away and yet as close as his own skin. And Rand ... Rand could reach it, too.

Suddenly he felt something, saw it, though he knew it was not there to see. A glowing rope ran off from Aginor, behind him, stretching back to where they had first met, back to the Eye. White like sunlight seen through the purest cloud, heavier than a blacksmith’s arm, lighter than air, the rope connected the Forsaken to something distant beyond knowing, something within the touch of Rand’s hand. The rope pulsed, and beside that shining cord, the Forsaken seemed almost not to exist. The cord was all. It hummed. It sang. It called Rand’s soul. One bright finger-strand lifted away, drifted towards him ... He reached without reaching and touched it without touching. A rapturous gasp burst from Rand’s lips. Light filled him, and heat that should have burned yet only warmed as if it took the chill of the grave from his bones. The strand thickened. He pulled at the light, drank it in greedily.

“No!” Aginor shouted. “You shall not have it! It is mine!”

Rand did not move, and neither did the Forsaken, yet they fought as surely as if they grappled in the dust. Sweat beaded on Aginor’s face. Rand pulsed with the beating in the cord, like the heartbeat of the world. It filled his being. Light filled his mind, till only a corner was left for what was himself. He wrapped the void around that nook; sheltered in emptiness.

“Mine!” Aginor cried through gritted yellow teeth as he, or something else, struggled to contain the fungi that infested his body. “Mine!”

Warmth built in Rand, the warmth of the sun, the radiance of the sun, bursting, the awful radiance of light, of the Light. Power to burn, to burn the Forsaken, to burn the Shadow. He raised his sword again and brought it crashing down upon Aginor’s barrier, and with it came a wild inferno.

The barrier held against the flames that cascaded over it, but Aginor’s remaining eye went very wide and when the fiery wave receded embers rained down on him, singeing his torn garb.

Rand staggered. He felt as though liquid lightning had been poured into his veins. As he raised the sword once more, channelling the strange power, Aginor got one skinny leg under himself and lunged ... but not towards Rand, away, towards the silver-lined gateway that now reappeared in the air before him.

The Forsaken jumped head-first through the gate. Rand lashed out wildly and Aginor shrieked. The sound was cut off abruptly as the floating doorway winked closed, but Rand did not think the man’s screams had ended, wherever he had gone. He stared at the shrivelled legs laying on the grassy meadow, bloody bits of knee marking where they had been severed from their former owner.

All was silent save for a chorus of sharply indrawn breaths, Rand’s own among them. He trembled, from all that had happened, yes, but most of all from the power that still pulsed within him. Draining out of something, filling him until he felt he must burst if he did not release it somehow.

_ Channelling the power _ , he thought again.  _ Channelling ... the One Power! _

He whimpered.  _ No ... no, no, no _ .

With a groan like a limb breaking under too great a weight, the Green Man crashed to the ground. Half his head was charred black. Tendrils of smoke still rose from him, like grey creepers. Burned leaves fell from his arm as he painfully stretched out his blackened hand to gently cup an acorn.

“And so it begins,” he sighed sadly. His hazelnut eyes locked on Rand’s, searching for something, probing. He felt as though a thin vine was wrapping itself around his mind, binding him to something unknowable.

The Green Man’s gaze dimmed. The earth rumbled as an oak seedling pushed up between his fingers. Even as his head fell, the seedling reached for the sun, straining. Roots shot out and thickened, delved beneath the ground and rose again, thickened more as they sank. The trunk broadened and stretched upward, bark turning grey and fissured and ancient. Limbs spread and grew heavy, as big as arms, as big as men, and lifted to caress the sky, thick with green leaves, dense with acorns. The massive web of roots turned the earth like ploughs as it spread; the already huge trunk shivered, grew wider, round as a house. Stillness came. And an oak that could have stood five hundred years covered the spot where the Green Man had been, marking the tomb of a legend. The wind sighed through the oak’s branches; it seemed to murmur farewell.

Loial dropped to his knees. Great fat tears fell from the Ogier’s saucer-like eyes. _ “Yasipa sa’suravye, T’ingshen,”  _ he sobbed. “Rest in peace, Treebrother.”

The Power was still building in Rand. He shook like a leaf in the wind.  _ I have to get away! I have to do something, or... or ... _

The Mountains of Doom shimmered briefly and were gone. Rand stared, open-mouthed. Anna must have noticed, too, because she bit off a curse. For a mad moment, Rand thought he had destroyed the mountains with the power.  _ Mad, it drives you mad _ . But then he realised the mountains had not truly been destroyed, they had simply been moved.  _ No, not them. Us. We moved _ .

They were still in the meadow, near the great oak tree, but the Blight outside the Green Man’s sanctuary was gone, replaced with a cold rocky plain. And where once the dark mountains had loomed to the north, now they stretched instead to east and west.

He staggered to the edge of the meadow. As before a sheer drop awaited him, but this time they were closer to the ground, a mere two dozen feet up. He stared out, the icy breeze on his face.

They were in a broad mountain pass, surrounded by jagged black peaks. Battle surrounded them, or the tail end of battle. Armoured men on armoured horses, shining steel dusty now, slashed and stabbed at snarling Trollocs wielding spiked axes and scythe-like swords. Some men fought afoot, their horses down, and barded horses galloped through the fight with empty saddles. Fades moved among them all, night-black cloaks hanging still however their dark mounts galloped, and wherever their light-eating swords swung, men died. Sound beat at Rand, beat at him and bounced from the strangeness that had him by the throat. The clash of steel against steel, the panting and grunting of men and Trollocs striving, the screams of men and Trollocs dying. Over the din, banners waved in dust-filled air. The Black Hawk of Shienar, the Three Foxes of House Jagad, others. And Trolloc banners. In just the little space around him he saw the horned skull of the Dha’vol, the blood-red trident of the Ko’bal, the iron fist of the Dhai’mon. Yet it was indeed the tail end of battle, a pausing, as humans and Trollocs alike fell back to regroup, paying a few last strokes to the enemy before breaking away, galloping, or running in a stagger, to the ends of the pass.

Some of the Shadowspawn stood still, bestial heads swivelling frantically from side to side, looking confused. As one they turned back to stare at the garden that had appeared as if from nowhere. Rand wondered what would happen if the Green Man’s sanctuary appeared on top of someone. Would they be crushed beneath it, or somehow moved away? He suspected those Trollocs had been standing elsewhere a moment before.

Rand looked to the end of the pass where the humans were re-forming, pennants stirring beneath gleaming lancepoints. Wounded men wavered in their saddles. Riderless horses reared and galloped. Plainly they could not stand another meeting, yet just as plainly they readied themselves for one final charge. Some of them saw him now; men stood in their stirrups to point at him. At that distance, their shouts came to him as tiny piping.

Behind a thick line or armoured pikemen, Queen Kensin of Shienar stood in her stirrups to peer his way. He knew her by the banner her companion flew, the White Hart on a blue field, just as Ingtar had described. But he might have known her anyway by the ornate armour she wore, silvered plate and mail fashioned to resemble a lady’s long gown while still providing protection. Her silver crown was fitted to the outside of her open-faced helm. Unlike most Queens, who ruled from their capitals and sent a chosen general to command their armies when armies were needed, Kensin was known for taking the field in person, and fighting alongside her soldiers when she judged it necessary.

Trembling, fit to burst from the power within him, he turned his face north. The forces of the Dark One filled the other end of the pass, bristling black pikes and spearpoints swelling up onto mountain slopes made blacker still by the great mass of Trollocs that dwarfed the army of Shienar. Fades in hundreds rode across the front of the horde, the fierce, muzzled faces of Trollocs turning away in fear as they passed, huge bodies pulling back to make way. Overhead, Draghkar wheeled on leathery pinions, shrieks challenging the wind. Halfmen saw him now, too, pointed, and Draghkar spun and dove. Two. Three. Six of them, crying shrilly as they plummeted toward him.

He stared at them. Heat filled him, the burning heat of the touched sun. He could see the Draghkar clearly, soulless eyes in pale men’s faces on winged bodies that had nothing of humanity about them. An arrow launched from behind him took one in the chest, the others dove on. A second fell to Anna’s bow but the rest were near now, shrieking in triumph. Terrible heat. Crackling heat.

From the clear sky lightning came, each bolt crisp and sharp, searing his eyes, each bolt striking a winged black shape. Hunting cries became shrieks of death, and charred forms fell to leave the sky clean again.

The heat. The terrible heat of the Light.

He fell to his knees; he thought he could hear his tears sizzling on his cheeks. “No!” He clutched at tufts of grass for some hold on reality; the grass burst in flame. “Please, nooooooo!”

The wind rose with his voice, howled with his voice, roared with his voice down the pass, “It has to end!”

He beat at the ground with his fist, and the earth tolled like a gong. Ripples ran through the ground ahead of him in ever-rising waves, waves of dirt and rock towering over Trollocs and Fades, breaking over them as the mountains shattered under their hooved feet. The earth jerked like a tablecloth yanked by an angry child, sending armies flying like so much crockery. A boiling mass of flesh and rubble churned across the Trolloc army, burying them. What was left standing was still a mighty host, but now no more than twice the human army in numbers, and milling in fright and confusion. He heard soft-voiced prayers being mumbled behind.

The wind died. The screams died. The earth was still. Dust and smoke swirled back down the pass to surround him.

Through the smoke, as from the far end of the earth, came a cry. “The Light wills it!” The ground rumbled with the thunder of hooves as the forces of Shienar launched their last charge. Queen Kensin herself led them, her long, curved sword in hand, already red with Trolloc blood.

IT IS NOT HERE.

It was not Rand’s thought, making his skull vibrate.

I WILL TAKE NO PART. ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE CAN DO WHAT MUST BE DONE. IF THEY WILL.

“Where?” He did not want to say it, but he could not stop himself; that impossible voice demanded response. “Where?”

NOT HERE.

The world outside shimmered once more. Tarwin’s Gap, and the battle raging there, disappeared from Rand’s view. In its place, insanely, there appeared a long, dark corridor marked with regular doorways.

He knelt in a grassy meadow and gaped up and down the familiar stone hall. The grey winter’s sky was hidden by a dark stone roof and when he looked back at the Green Man’s trees he saw their trunks disappearing into the ceiling. Hanging branches poked down from limbs that were swallowed in brick, yet still swayed freely as though the stone did not touch them, as though they were not truly there at all.  _ This is impossible, this is all impossible. What is happening to me? _

“Light have mercy, what the hell is going on?” Anna’s shaking voice echoed Rand’s thoughts. She was staring around wide eyed, clutching her bow. Loial stood beside her, his ears twitching so badly they looked ready to take flight.

The cord was yet there, stretching behind him, the glowing line dwindling and vanishing into the distance. It was not so thick as before, but it still pulsed, pumping strength into him, pumping life, filling him with the Light. And right before him there was an all-too familiar door, its surface rough and splintered and old.

Rand rose slowly to his feet. “Wait here,” he said, with a calm that surprised even him. “I have business inside.”

He set his hand to the door, and it burst to fragments. While they still fell, he stepped through, bits of shattered wood falling from his shoulders.

The chamber, too, was as he remembered, the mad, striated sky beyond the balcony, the melted walls, the polished table, the terrible fireplace with its roaring, heatless flames. Some of those faces that made the fireplace, writhing in torment, shrieking in silence, tugged at his memory as if he knew them, but he held the void close, floated within himself in emptiness. He was alone. When he looked at the mirror on the wall, his face was there as clear as if it was him.  _ There is calm in the void. _

“Here we are again,” Ba’alzamon said from in front of the fireplace, where he had not been a moment before. “A long search, but ended now. You are here, and I know you for who you are.”

In the midst of the Light the void drifted, and in the midst of the void floated Rand. He reached for the soil of his home, and felt hard rock, unyielding and dry, stone without pity, where only the strong could survive, only those as hard as the mountains. “I am tired of running.” He could not believe his voice was so calm. “Tired of you harming my friends. I will run no more.” Ba’alzamon had a cord, too, he saw. A black cord, thicker by far than his own, so wide it should have dwarfed the human body, yet dwarfed by Ba’alzamon, instead. Each pulse along that black vein ate light.

“You think it makes any difference, whether you run or stay?” Ba’alzamon laughed. The faces in the hearth wept at their master’s mirth. “You have fled from me many times, and each time I run you down and make you eat your pride with snivelling tears for spice. Many times you have stood and fought, then grovelled in defeat, begging mercy. You have this choice, worm, and this choice only: kneel at my feet and serve me well, and I will give you power above thrones; or be Tar Valon’s puppet fool and scream while you are ground into the dust of time.”

The white cord that fed Rand and Ba’alzamon’s heavier black cord beat like heartveins in countertime, against each other, the light barely resisting the waves of dark. He studied them while trying to appear as if he was not. What was the Dark One linked to? What was Rand?

“There are other choices,” Rand said. “The Wheel weaves the Pattern, not you. Every trap you’ve laid for me, I have escaped. I’ve escaped your Fades and Trollocs, escaped your Darkfriends. I tracked you here, and destroyed your army on the way. You do not weave the Pattern.”

Ba’alzamon’s black eyes were like pools of hot oil. “Aginor’s failure to secure the Eye of the World has given you delusions of grandeur. A failing common in all your incarnations.” He smiled in a way that chilled even through the warmth of the Light.

“Other armies can be raised, fool. Armies you have not dreamed of will yet come. And you tracked me? You slug under a rock, track me? I began the setting of your path the day you were born, a path to lead you to your grave, or here. Aiel allowed to flee, and one to live, to speak the words that would echo down the years. Jain Farstrider, a hero,” he twisted the word to a sneer, “whom I painted like a fool and sent to the Ogier thinking he was free of me. The Black Ajah, wriggling like worms on their bellies across the world to search you out. I pull the strings and the Amyrlin Seat dances and thinks she controls events. I have shaped this very world to my design for the past three millennia, and you think I am hiding from you?”

The void trembled; hastily Rand firmed it again.  _ He knows it all. He could have done. It could be the way he says _ . The Light warmed the void. Doubt cried out and was stilled, till only the seed remained. He struggled, not knowing whether he wanted to bury the seed or make it grow. The void steadied, smaller than before, and he floated in calm.

Ba’alzamon seemed to notice nothing. “It matters little if I have you alive or dead, except to you and to what power you might have. You will serve me, or your soul will. But I would rather have you kneel to me alive than dead. A single fist of Trollocs sent to your village when I could have sent a thousand. One Darkfriend to face you where a hundred could come on you asleep. And you, fool, you don’t even know them all, neither those ahead, nor those behind, nor those by your side. You are mine, have always been mine, my dog on a leash, and I brought you here to kneel to your master or die and let your soul kneel.”

Rand focused, channelling the Power into his hands, creating a sword of blinding light in the form of Tam’s heron-marked blade. He didn’t know what he was doing, or how, he only knew that he had to do it.

Ba’alzamon’s eyes burned like the Pit of Doom, but he shied back from the sword as if it truly were the Light itself. “Fool! You will destroy yourself! You cannot wield it so, not yet! Not until I teach you!”

“You have nothing to teach me, I am tired of your ranting and your threats. This ends!” Rand shouted, and he swung the sword at Ba’alzamon’s black cord.

Ba’alzamon screamed as the sword fell, screamed till the stone walls trembled. The cord severed, the cut ends rebounded apart as if they had been under tension. The end stretching into the nothingness outside began to shrivel as it sprang away; the other whipped back into Ba’alzamon, hurling him against the fireplace. There was silent laughter in the soundless shrieks of the tortured faces. The walls shivered and cracked; the floor heaved, and chunks of stone crashed to the floor from the ceiling.

As all broke apart around him, Rand pointed the sword at Ba’alzamon’s heart. “It is ended!” Light lanced from the blade, coruscating in a shower of fiery sparks like droplets of molten, white metal.

The flames washed over Ba’alzamon ... and were swallowed up by his darkness. Rand poured the power out of himself, shaped it into a weapon and let it rain down on the Dark One, but to no avail. It was as though he simply absorbed it all.

Ba’alzamon straightened, seemed calmer, colder, and fixed Rand with a bitter sneer. “If it were so easy, we would have finished this a thousand lifetimes ago, brother. There will be no victory here, not for you and not for I. The only path to victory is the one I have plotted for us. Serve me, or suffer for eternity. Those are the only choices you have.”

Suddenly Ba’alzamon convulsed. From an unknowable place the black cord returned, striking at him like a monstrous serpent. It reattached itself to him and his eyes glowed with hatred once more. “The Great Lord of the Dark does not relinquish his servants so easily. No more than does the master whose whip steers you, worm.”

“No,” Rand cried, “this ends!” He struck again, with flames, with wind, with lightning, with all that his imagination could conjure, draining the great font of power. He felt the bright thread attached to him thinning, till only the glow itself remained, but he strained harder, not knowing what he did, or how, only that this had to be ended.  _ It has to end! _

With angry slashes of his arm, Ba’alzamon deflected Rand’s attacks. Furniture took fire, stone melted as though it were wax, the entire chamber came apart under the onslaught, but Ba’alzamon himself remained unharmed. “Fool! It never ends! We have stood in this very room and fought this very battle a thousand, thousand times. Serve me, or we will fight it a thousand more.”

The pure white cord was gossamer thin now, it flickered one last time. Rand raised his hand, palm up, and aimed it defiantly at the Dark One. “I will never serve you. I deny you Shai’tan.”

Ba’alzamon glared back at him. “You will learn. You will see. You will be  _ made _ to see my truth.” He mirrored Rand’s gesture. “And here is the first part of it. I am not Shai’tan. My name ... is Ishamael.”

Rand threw one final bolt of silver lightning at the dark man. It was met by another bolt, thrown by his enemy, one of purest blackness. The two struck, rebounded from each other, and tore the world to pieces.


	20. The Aftermath

CHAPTER 51: The Aftermath

He became aware of the sun, first, moving across a cloudless sky, filling his unblinking eyes. It seemed to go by fits and starts, standing still for days, then darting ahead in a streak of light, jerking toward the far horizon, day falling with it.  _ Light. That should mean something _ . Thought was a new thing.  _ I can think. I means me _ . Pain came next, the memory of raging fever, the bruises where shaking chills had thrown him around like a rag doll. And a stink. A greasy, burned smell, filling his nostrils, and his head.

With aching muscles, he heaved himself over, pushed up to hands and knees. With a trembling hand he touched the hole in his coat, dead in the centre of his chest. Then he gritted his teeth as pain flared. The flesh beneath was red and raw, as though he had been burnt.

With an effort he fumbled his sword from its scabbard. His hands shook when he held it up in front of his face; it took both hands. It was a heron-mark blade— _ Heron-mark? Yes. Tam. My father _ —but only steel for that. He needed three wavering tries to sheathe it again. It had been something else. Or there was another sword.

“My name,” he said after a while, “is Rand al’Thor.” More memory crashed back into his head like a lead ball, and he groaned. “Egwene!” That name meant something important.

Painfully he got to his feet, wavering like a willow in a high wind. Egwene.  _ Have to find her. Who is she? _

A stocky, short-haired girl emerged from the treeline carrying a waterskin. She had been trotting, but at the sight of him she drew up short. “You shouldn’t be moving. You’re hurt. Loial went back to see if Moiraine or Nynaeve are still ...” Her strong face crumpled in misery. He wished she wouldn’t do that, she was much prettier when she was not on the verge of tears.

He had already tottered most of the way across the meadow towards her when a name popped into his head. “Anna. You are Anna. Anna al’Tolan from the Theren.” He smiled in relief. “I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

His knees gave out, but Anna caught him, supporting his weight easily despite the great difference in their heights. That should not have surprised him. Rand shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs out.

Anna put his arm across her shoulder and offered him the waterskin. “Drink this. All of it. It’s a miracle you’re still alive. I think you were struck by lightning; from the burn and the way you flew out of that room.”

_ The room. Ba’alzamon, no, Ishamael ... _

Anna eyed him critically. There was a wariness about her gaze that somehow seemed unfamiliar. Everything was unfamiliar, but that especially so. “We weren’t sure if we should move you, but if you’re walking about on your own then we should probably head back to the Eye and meet Loial. Save him the return journey.” Rand could do little more than nod, lost in memory as he was.

He drank in small sips as they made their slow way through the woods. His memories came back to him, piece by piece. Aginor had fought the Green Man, and they had grievously wounded each other. The famous Green Man had died, and the infamous Forsaken had ...  _ No, no, that can’t be right. I didn’t ... _

When they arrived back at the clearing, they found half-familiar faces awaiting them. There was the white stone arch marked with the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, and the blackened, gaping pit where fire and wind had tried to trap Aginor and failed.

Rand looked around. “Egwene! Egwene, where are you?” A pretty girl looked up with haunted brown eyes from where she knelt beneath the spreading branches, flowers in her long hair. She was slender and young and stubborn; and her hurts and fears were not so well-hidden as she imagined.  _ That must be her. Of course ... _ “Egwene ...” He stopped.  _ Of course it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, she was ... _

He swallowed. “Nynaeve. I’m glad you’re alive. Were you badly hurt?”

The slender Wisdom’s eyes were old, ancient in her young face, but she shook her head. “A little bruised,” she said, watching him warily. “Egwene is the only one who ...” She gripped her braid in both hands, shaking loose the last of the flowers the Green Man had woven in it, and glared at the ground. There were streaks in the dirt on her face, from recent tears.

“It’s true then,” he whispered. “I hoped I’d imagined it.” His gaze was pulled to a scorched black circle in the clearing, where grass and branch had been burnt to cinders. No sooner had his eyes touched the spot than he flinched away. It had been quick, as such things went. At least there was that. She had not suffered.

Anna released him and went to Nynaeve, she hesitated before placing a hand lightly upon the Wisdom’s arm. Nynaeve gave her head a shake and then wrapped her arms around the girl, hugging her tight.

There was another woman in the clearing. She lay outstretched, her head pillowed on folded cloaks, her own sky-blue cloak not quite hiding the tattered remnants of her dress. Charred spots and tears in the rich cloth showed, and her face was pale, but her eyes were open.  _ Moiraine. Yes, the Aes Sedai _ . She looked at him, unblinking and intent.

“I suffered more injury to my pride than anything else,” the Aes Sedai said irritably, plucking at her cloak blanket. She looked as if she had been a long time ill, or hard used, but despite the dark circles under them her eyes were sharp and full of power. “Aginor was surprised and angry that I held him as long as I did, but fortunately, he had no time to spare for ‘questioning’ me as he wished. I am surprised myself that I held him so long. In the Age of Legends, Aginor was close behind the Kinslayer and Ishamael in power.”

“Ishamael,” said Rand slowly. “That was what Ba’alzamon called himself.”

Moiraine shook her head. “The Father of Lies has many names. But Ishamael was one of the Forsaken, bound in the Pit of Doom at the end of the Age of Legends. Aginor must have been trapped closer to the surface.” Moiraine sounded as if she had already explained this, impatient at doing so again. “The patch on the Dark One’s prison weakened enough to free him. Let us be thankful no more of the Forsaken were freed. If they had been, we would have seen them.”

He shrugged. “As you wish. Whoever he is I don’t think he’s dead. I tried to burn him with ...” The rest of memory flooded back then, leaving his mouth hanging open.  _ The One Power. I wielded the One Power. No man can ...  _ He licked lips that were suddenly dry. A gust of wind swirled fallen and falling leaves around them, but it was no colder than his heart. They were looking at him, the three of them. Watching. Not even blinking.

Anna looked from Rand to Nynaeve. She sighed heavily. “Loial must have told.”

“He did. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” Nynaeve said slowly, “but you are still Rand al’Thor of Emond’s Field. But, the Light help me, the Light help us all, you are too dangerous, Rand.” He flinched from the Wisdom’s eyes, sad, regretting, and already accepting loss. But he knew she was right. Madness and murder were the fate of any man who could channel.  _ Better to die now, before I go insane and take more of my friends down with me. _

“What happened?” Moiraine said. “Tell me everything!”

And with her eyes on him, compelling, he did. He wanted to turn away, to make it short, leave things out, but the Aes Sedai’s eyes drew everything from him. Aginor and his floating doorways. The struggle with and murder of the Green Man, the medallion that spoke and seemed to heal, the white cord and Aginor’s escape.

Nynaeve gave a fierce nod at that. “His legs. Good. Let him crawl his way back to the Pit.”

He told them of Tarwin’s Gap and the battle there, of the way the Green Man’s garden had moved from place to place, seemingly of its own free will. He hesitated then, reluctant to speak of the stunning voice, whose words had all but knocked him unconscious simply from hearing them. Instead he ended with the confrontation with Ba’alzamon, and his mad claims.

“I had suspicions from the first,” Moiraine said after he was done. “Suspicions are not proof, though. After I gave you the token, the coin, and made that bonding, you should have been willing to fall in with whatever I wanted, but you resisted, questioned. That told me something, but not enough. Manetheren blood was always stubborn, and more so after Aemon died and Eldrene’s heart was shattered. Then there was Bela.”

“The coin was supposed to control me? What about Bela?” he said. His anger fell as quickly as it had risen. What difference did it make now what she tried to do?  _ Nothing will ever make any difference. Madness and murder. _

The Aes Sedai nodded. “At Watch Hill, Bela had no need of me to cleanse her of tiredness. Someone had already done it. She could have outrun Mandarb, that night. I should have thought of who Bela carried. With Trollocs on our heels, a Draghkar overhead, and a Halfman the Light alone knew where, how you must have feared that Egwene would be left behind. You needed something more than you had ever needed anything before in your life, and you reached out to the one thing that could give it to you.  _ Saidin _ .”

He shivered. He felt so cold his fingers hurt. “If I never do it again, if I never touch it again, will I still ...” He could not say it. Go mad. Turn the land and people around him to madness. Die rotting while he still lived.

“Perhaps not,” Moiraine said. “It would be much easier if there was someone to teach you, but it might be done, with a supreme effort of will.”

“You can teach me. Surely, you—” He stopped when the Aes Sedai shook her head.

“Can a cat teach a dog to climb trees, Rand? Can a fish teach a bird to swim? I know  _ saidar _ , but I can teach you nothing of  _ saidin _ . Those who could are three thousand years dead. Perhaps you are stubborn enough, though. Perhaps your will is strong enough.”

_ And if it isn’t, who pays the price? _ “Where are the others, were they hurt?” he asked.

“They’re as well as can be expected. Lan took them into the cavern,” Nynaeve said. “The Eye is gone, but there’s something in the middle of the pool, a crystal column, and steps to reach it. Mat and Perrin wanted to look for you first, but Moiraine said ...” She glanced at the Aes Sedai, troubled. Moiraine returned her look calmly. “She said we mustn’t disturb you while you were ...”

His throat constricted until he could hardly breathe.  _ Will they turn their faces away? Will they scream and run away like I’m a Fade? _ Moiraine spoke as if she did not notice the blood draining from his face.

“There was a vast amount of the One Power in the Eye. Even in the Age of Legends, few could have channelled so much unaided without being destroyed. Very few.”

The rasp in his throat made his voice harsh. “You will be wanting to Gentle me, won’t you? Isn’t that what Aes Sedai do to men who can wield the Power? Change them so they can’t? Make them safe? Thom said men who have been Gentled die because they stop wanting to live. Why aren’t you talking about taking me to Tar Valon to be Gentled?”

“You are  _ ta’veren _ ,” Moiraine replied. “Perhaps the Pattern has not finished with you.”

Rand stood up straight. “In the dreams Ba’alzamon said Tar Valon and the Amyrlin Seat would try to use me. He named names, and I remember them, now. Raolin Darksbane and Guaire Amalasan. Yurian Stonebow. Davian. Logain.” The last was the hardest of all to say. Nynaeve went pale and Anna gasped, but he pressed on angrily. “Every one a false Dragon. Don’t try to deny it. Well, I won’t be used. I am not a tool you can throw on the midden heap when it’s worn out.”

“A tool made for a purpose is not demeaned by being used for that purpose,” Moiraine’s voice was as harsh as his own, “but a man who believes the Father of Lies demeans himself. You say you will not be used, and then you let the Dark One set your path like a hound sent after a rabbit by his master.”

His fists clenched, and he turned his head away. It was too close to the things Ba’alzamon had said. “I am no-one’s hound. Do you hear me? No his, and not yours! Kill me and be done with it, but do not think to use me in some White Tower plot.”

Loial and the others appeared in the arch, just in time to hear Rand’s final words.

Lan led the way, looking as hard as ever but still somewhat the worse for wear. He had one of Nynaeve’s bandages around his temples, and a stiff-backed way of walking. Behind him, Loial carried a large gold chest, ornately worked and chased with silver. No-one but an Ogier could have lifted it unaided. Perrin had his arms wrapped around a big bundle of folded white cloth, and Mat was cupping what appeared to be fragments of pottery in his two hands.

“You’re still here?” Mat muttered, not meeting Rand’s eyes. “If I were you, I’d be halfway to the Aryth Ocean by now. And I would not stop until I found someplace where there were no Aes Sedai and never likely to be any. And no people. I mean ... well ...”

“Shut up, Mat,” Perrin said calmly.

“Don’t tell me to shut up. If the Dark One doesn’t kill us, Rand will go mad and do it for him. Burn me. Burn me!”

That hurt. Rand could not say Mat was wrong, but it still hurt. They’d been friends, and more, for as long as he could remember. But he didn’t think it would be just Mat who wanted to be as far away from Rand al’Thor as possible now.

He turned his face to Perrin. “What about you?”

Perrin shook his head, shaggy curls swinging. “I don’t know, Rand. You are the same, but then again, you aren’t. A man channelling; my mother used to frighten me with that, when I was little. I just do not know. If I were you I’d run so far, so fast, no Aes Sedai would ever find me. Mat’s right about that.” His eyes, now completely yellow, seemed to look inward, and he sounded tired. “But sometimes you can’t run.”

“That is what I’m afraid of,” Mat said. “No offense, Rand, but I think I will just sleep as far away from you as I can, if you don’t mind. That’s if you are staying. I heard about a fellow who could channel, once. A merchant’s guard told me. Before the Red Ajah found him, he woke one morning, and his whole village was smashed flat. All the houses, all the people, everything but the bed he was sleeping in, like a mountain had rolled over them.”

Perrin said, “In that case, Mat, you should sleep cheek by jowl with him.”

“I may be a fool, but I intend to be a live fool.” Mat hesitated, looking sideways at Rand. “Look I know we’re friends and all. But you just are not the same anymore. You understand that, don’t you?” He waited as if he expected an answer. None came.

Lan ended the awkward silence. “Good to see you alive, sheepherder,” he said gruffly. “I see you hung onto your sword. Maybe you’ll learn to use it, now.” Rand felt a sudden burst of affection for the Warder; Lan knew, but on the surface at least, nothing had changed. He thought that perhaps, for Lan, nothing had changed inside either.

“I must say,” Loial said, setting the chest down near Moiraine, “that travelling with  _ ta’veren _ has turned out to be even more interesting than I expected.” His ears twitched violently. “If it becomes any more interesting, I will go back to Stedding Shangtai immediately, confess everything to Elder Haman, and never leave my books again. Perhaps you would like to join me, Rand? The  _ stedding _ is a pleasant place.” A place where the One Power cannot find you, he did not say.

Rand licked his lips as he considered the suggestion. It would be better than dying certainly, but he recalled it being said none of the male Aes Sedai who took sanctuary in the  _ stedding _ during the Breaking of the World had been able to make themselves stay there forever.

“A short-term solution,” Moiraine said firmly. “Help me up.” Lan lifted her until she was sitting; he had to support her even then, her hands were occupied holding her cloak in place. She examined the prizes they had returned with, her face a blank mask.

“How could these things be inside the Eye,” Mat asked, “without being destroyed like that rock?”

“They were not put there to be destroyed,” the Aes Sedai said curtly, and frowned away their questions while she took the pottery fragments, black and white and shiny, from Mat.

They seemed like rubble to Rand, but she fitted them together deftly on the ground beside her, making a perfect circle the size of a man’s hand. The ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, the Flame of Tar Valon joined with the Dragon’s Fang, black siding white. For a moment Moiraine only looked at it, her face unreadable, then she took the knife from her belt and handed it to Lan, nodding to the circle.

The Warder separated out the largest piece, then raised the knife high and brought it down with all his might. A spark flew, the fragment leaped with the force of the blow, and the blade snapped with a sharp crack. He examined the stump left attached to the hilt, then tossed it aside. “The best steel from Tear,” he said dryly.

Mat snatched the fragment up and grunted, then showed it around. There was no mark on it. “ _ Cuendillar _ ,” Moiraine said. “Heartstone. No-one has been able to make it since the Age of Legends, and even then it was made only for the greatest purpose. Once made, nothing can break it. Not the One Power itself wielded by the greatest Aes Sedai who ever lived aided by the most powerful  _ sa’angreal _ ever made. Any power directed against heartstone only makes it stronger.”

“Then how ...?” Mat’s gesture with the piece he held took in the other bits on the ground.

“This was one of the seven seals on the Dark One’s prison,” Moiraine said. Mat dropped the piece as if it had become white-hot. For a moment, Perrin’s eyes seemed to glow again.

Anna paled. “But if it’s broken then the Dark One ...”

“One of seven,” Moiraine reminded them. The Aes Sedai calmly began gathering the fragments. She carefully put all the pieces into her pouch. “Bring me the chest.” Loial lifted it closer.

The flattened cube of gold and silver appeared to be solid, but the Aes Sedai’s fingers felt across the intricate work, pressing, and with a sudden click a top flung back as if on springs. A curled, gold horn nestled within. Despite its gleam, it seemed plain beside the chest that held it. The only markings were a line of silver script inlaid around the mouth of the bell. Moiraine lifted the horn out as if lifting a babe. “This must be carried to Illian,” she said softly.

“Illian!” Perrin growled. “That’s almost to the Sea of Storms, nearly as far south of home as we are north now.”

“Is it ...?” Loial stopped to catch his breath. “Can it be ...?”

“You can read the Old Tongue?” Moiraine asked, and when he nodded, she handed him the horn. The Ogier took it as gently as she had, delicately tracing the script with one broad finger. His eyes went wider and wider, and his ears stood up straight. “ _ Tia mi aven Moridin isainde vadin _ ,” he whispered. “The grave is no bar to my call.”

“The Horn of Valere.” For once the Warder appeared truly shaken; there was a touch of awe in his voice.

At the same time Nynaeve said in a shaky voice, “To call the heroes of the Ages back from the dead to fight the Dark One.”

“Burn me!” Mat breathed.

Loial reverently laid the horn back in its golden nest. “I begin to wonder,” Moiraine said. “The Eye of the World was made against the greatest need the world would ever face, but was it made for the use to which ... we ... put it, or to guard these things? Quickly, the last, show it to me.”

After the first two, Rand could understand Perrin’s reluctance. Lan and the Ogier took the bundle of white cloth from him when he hesitated, and unfolded it between them. A long, white banner spread out, lifting on the air. Rand could only stare. The whole thing seemed of a piece, neither woven, nor dyed, nor painted. A figure like a serpent, scaled in scarlet and gold, ran the entire length, but it had scaled legs, and feet with five long, golden claws on each, and a great head with a golden mane and eyes like the sun. The stirring of the banner made it seem to move, scales glittering like precious metals and gems, alive; he almost thought he could hear it roar defiance.

“What is it?” he said.

Moiraine answered slowly. “The banner of the Lord of the Morning when he led the forces of Light against the Shadow. The banner of Lews Therin Telamon. The banner of the Dragon.” Loial almost dropped his end.

“Burn me!” Mat said faintly.

“We will take these things with us when we go,” Moiraine said. “They were not put here by chance, and I must know more.” Her fingers brushed her pouch, where the pieces of the shattered seal were. “It is too late in the day for starting now. We will rest, and eat, but we will leave early. The Blight is all around here, not as along the Border, and strong. Without the Green Man, this place cannot hold long. Let me down,” she told Lan. “I must rest.”

Rand became aware of what he had been seeing all along, but not noticing. Dead, brown leaves falling from the trees. Dead leaves rustling thick on the ground in the breeze, brown mixed with petals dropped from thousands of flowers. The Green Man had held back the Blight, but already the Blight was killing what he had made.

Perrin saw it as clearly as Rand. His sad eyes drifted to the black circle on the ground, where death was already being piled on death, and he heaved a heavy sigh. “The Light burn me, but I want to go home.” He looked to Moiraine. “It is done, isn’t it? It is finished.”

The Aes Sedai turned her head on its pillow of cloaks. Her eyes seemed as deep as the Eye of the World. “We have done what we came here to do. From here you may live your life as the Pattern weaves. Eat, then sleep. Sleep, and dream of home.”


End file.
